


Curtains, Cataclysms, and Constellations

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A dabbling in voyeurism because of the prompt, A poor retelling of Greek mythology, A substantial amount of That 70s Show references, Alternate Universe - High School, An unplanned facial, Bottom Louis, Coming Out, Even Niall pines a bit, Fate, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of parents arguing and a divorce, Multiple references to an awkward Vibrator Incident, Nobody wears clothes when they answer the door, Outdoor Sex, Pining, So somewhat-serious tags first, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't understand the boy next door.</p><p>People don’t normally send surreptitious messages through the form of symbolic emotion and quick glances if they want to be left alone. Right?</p><p>No. His new neighbour is trying to say something to him.</p><p>(And if Harry decides to devote his entire summer to figuring him out, it will be a summer well spent.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curtains, Cataclysms, and Constellations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andthensusays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthensusays/gifts).



> I want to thank [graduallydirtysnow](http://graduallydirtysnow.tumblr.com) for making this happen and not being afraid to tell me when the story was going down the wrong path. And for generally being the greatest beta to ever exist ever and suggesting for me to put a bell on the pink scooter. 
> 
> I also want to thank [Cassie](http://boyfriendsinlove.tumblr.com) for informing me of the difference between lemonade in the United States and England and dealing with me being an uncultured child. And for the plot advice as well.
> 
> This would have been a piece of poop without either of you and I am forever grateful <3
> 
> My [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com) if you want to talk to me! I'm friendly, I swear :)

It’s not like Harry’s _attached_ to his house on Malcolm Drive. It’s true that he’s lived here for a solid sixteen years of his life, but his mum never monitored his height on the doorframe, and he’s always preferred to go to his friend Jonny’s house if they were able to pick between the two.  

The personal connection just isn’t there. The beige, chipping paint doesn’t hold any secret memories within the hues, and his room is just that—a room to sleep in.

That’s why he’s surprised his eyes glaze over and he feels a sharp pang in his heart when Robin slams the back door of the moving van.

“Guess that’s everything, then.”

The house looks so bare with the welcoming mat absent and the curtains nonexistent, giving an unrestricted view of the interior to the entire street. It looks like the skeleton of Harry’s childhood, stripped naked and left behind to disintegrate into dust. He almost feels like he’s abandoning a good friend he’s always taken for granted, while he’s selfishly prepared to move on to bigger and better things.

And now that he might be doing just that, he’s sad he never got to know them.

***

Harry’s first night at his home on Gilman Street is sweltering hot. It’s apparent the insulation here is nothing compared to what he’s used to, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything that involves moving a muscle. He’s lying out across his bed, the lights off and his desk fan on the highest setting.

As he closes his eyes, he traces the ridge of a flower imprint on the bare mattress, the unfamiliarity of the room closing in on him.

He’s trying his best to remain optimistic. He’s always tried to look at the bright side of things, but it’s nearly impossible to see the positive of moving two hours away from every single friend he’s ever made. Jonny and Ellis pinky promised to come visit him whenever they could, but he knows sooner or later they’ll forget about him, and their visits will turn awkward.

The length of time will grow between each visit, and their lives will move in opposite directions. It’s sad that he knows sooner or later he’ll feel like an _outsider_ to his two best friends’ lives, when before he was the first to know even the most minuscule detail.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye to most of his friends from school since he and his parents packed up and left two months before the beginning of Year 12. He knows he should feel grateful or happy or not _completely_ bitter that Robin found work so quickly after being let go, but he’s only sixteen. He thinks he’s allowed to be _at least_ a little bit self-centred.

With a sigh, he turns so he’s lying on his side, his eyes to his window—his ridiculously huge window. It spans half the room, so large they were forced to order special curtains.

Which haven’t even come in yet.

He buries his forehead into the mattress and hopes his room faces west.

He contemplates going to sleep even though it’s only a few minutes to ten and groans when he realises the sheets are still folded in a box somewhere downstairs.

The woes of halfhearted unpacking.

He sits up and whips his shirt off, figuring that if he’s slept a whole night passed out against a bathtub, one night on a plain mattress won’t kill him.

But just as he’s throwing his shirt to the floor, a light switches on next door. Residual light floods through Harry’s window, making the scattered, misshapen spots of dried water droplets on the glass visible.

Harry’s first thought is that whoever planned the street failed spectacularly. From this angle, he can see the entirety of the room facing his. Whoever switched the light on is nowhere to be found, but he assumes the occupant is a male around his age due to the posters of Green Day and a scantily clad Natalie Portman above the messy, unmade bed.

When the light from the smaller window beside the illuminated room flips off, he’s halfway through a debate on whether to turn his own light on, so the opposite boy knows he has a new neighbour and refrains from whipping his dick out or doing something equally as embarrassing.

But he stops mid sit-up when he sees him.

Because holy fucking shit.

It seems the second window is attached to a bathroom. When his neighbour steps into view, he’s only wearing a towel, and steam is billowing around him in a ghostly swirl like he’s only half-real.

And maybe he _isn’t_. Maybe Harry is in a heat-induced, curtain-less daze. This boy is too pretty to be real.

His last neighbours were a middle-aged couple who were completely un-noteworthy other than the fact that they constantly set their fire alarm off at six in the morning. He wasn’t aware hot neighbours were a real _thing_. He feels like he’s in the middle of a film, but then he realises if he were, his hot as fuck neighbour would probably be a murderer.

He really hopes that isn't the case. Rear Window didn’t end well.

Fuck. Their rooms are _close_. He can see everything from the beads of water racing down the boy’s back, to the resulting darkening at the top of his towel, to the hint of stubble lining his jaw.

This boy is a _man_. Harry is salivating over a nearly naked man who will be sleeping across from him each night, with only a measly thirty foot precipice separating them.

Surprisingly, Harry has never imagined the perfect man. He realises that some people dream up the perfect partner, creating a checklist of traits they need to possess, but Harry’s love style has never been pragma.

He discovers right then and there, his hands shaking in excitement, that he’s never imagined the perfect man because he was waiting to _find_ him.

And he has _found_ him. He’s found wanking material for _probably_ the rest of his entire life.

Nobody will ever compare. He’s ruined. He wants to touch his face.

Harry can’t believe this is actually happening to him.

He’s staring unapologetically, his eyes raking over the dip of his future husband's hips and the bulge of his somehow massive arms.

But that’s not _fair_. He’s petite. He’s _small_. How can his arms be bigger than Harry’s?

Fuck. He’s being creepy. This boy has no idea there’s someone watching him from across the way.

He needs to look away. He needs to avert his eyes or turn to the wall.

But he can’t look away.

And then the boy drops his towel, and Harry swears he’s three seconds from passing out.

He covers his eyes, but it’s too late. _He saw it_.

This man’s arse wipes the Seven Wonders of the World off the map completely. And Harry _saw_ it.

He bites into his lip so hard he tastes blood. He won’t separate his fingers.

He _won’t_.

He wants to.

He _does_.

But he closes them almost as quickly, so he feels less like someone dabbling in voyeurism.

But he still did it. He throws himself over the edge of the bed in a blind panic and crawls directly below the window, turning his back to the wall and bringing his knees to his chest, his arms wrapping around them firmly.

He can resist. He _can_.

He slaps himself on the cheek, in disbelief that he looked a second time. Can he be arrested for that?

…This is bad.

He looks to his left and sees that his school backpack is thrown to the floor.

His saviour.

He rips three pages from his year 11 history exercise book and grabs a pen from the front pocket.

_No Curtains Yet._

He clearly prints one word on each page and licks the top of the paper to get it to stick to the window. It’ll have to do for now.

He takes a deep breath and attaches the papers before he rushes out of his room, flicking the light on as he passes through the entryway.

He doesn’t look back because, unlike most boys his age, he _sometimes_ possesses unparalleled self-control.

He leans against the wall once he’s in the clear, taking a deep breath as he tries to decide on the best course of action.

But it’s _extremely_ difficult to focus when he’s still fixated on the Glorious Towel Dropping Moment. It’s playing on repeat in his mind, like an annoying Vine that didn’t get the memo it’s bookmarked for later and isn’t welcome to play now.

In the end, Harry shakes his hair out and descends the stairs in order to try his hand at responsibility. (His mother would be so proud.)

When he returns from gathering his sheets, the opposite room’s curtains are still open. The boy is lounging on his bed, shirtless but with green shorts on and headphones in.

They make quick eye contact.

Harry’s heart stops when the boy nods to his window, smirking. And then he’s confused, because his neighbour has written him a message on his own piece of paper.

He hesitantly walks closer to examine it, his heart rate shooting up suddenly—half thrilled and half confused. He’s excited that he’s playing along, but the only thing Harry can make out on the white lined sheet of paper is a cryptic, winking smiley face.

It all makes sense when he removes his own message and realises that he put his words out of order in his haste.

He blushes so deeply he turns his lights off and doesn’t bother with the sheets.

***

The next day, embarrassed by his horrible failure and with no friends to spend time with, Harry decides to distract himself and venture out of the neighbourhood to explore town.

During the move, Robin discovered a pink scooter buried beneath the rubble of years’ worth of boxes. Harry decides to set aside his dignity and use that to get around.

While he’s out, he runs into a boy whose hipster glasses and artfully disheveled hair reminds him  _exactly_ of Gemma's ex boyfriend. He frowns as he watches him go and realises he’s neglected his sister since the move, so he decides to text her an update.

_hey gems borrowing your scooter. its pink and i feel judged. the house is nice but its too hot. also i saw the boy next door naked hes fitter than ryan gosling sos D:_

He receives a few funny looks while he waits for a response at the pelican crossing. But all in all, only one person yells insults at him from out of their window, so he considers it a win.

_WHAT??? Does mum know?_

A few seconds later, another comes through.

_Also, don’t pretend you mind the pink ;)_

He ignores the beeping signaling for him to cross while he types out his response.

 _no it was done in a very creepy way. still as mostly virginal and in the closet as last time you saw me :(_ _  
_

***

Harry wants to hate the town, but it doesn’t seem too terrible. It’s definitely _small,_ but there are freshly painted parks and two Starbucks. It’s _charming,_ and Harry knows when he stumbles upon a tiny, hole in the wall ice cream shop that he has to go in.

A bell tinkles above his head when he enters, prompting a pale boy with blonde hair to come out from the back room.

“How can—is that a pink scooter?”

Harry blushes (he’s been doing a lot of that) and rests the scooter against the wall, the attached bell making a tinny sound when it hits the plaster.

“It’s my sister’s,” he tries, stepping up to the counter. The boy raises his eyebrows at him, but smiles.

Harry’s sort of expecting one of those douchebag smiles when someone thinks they’re superior, secretly contemplating the best wording of a nasty text making fun of the loser at work. But it looks genuine, like he doesn’t think it’s weird that Harry would ride around town on his sister’s pink scooter, or simply doesn’t care to judge.

“I haven’t seen an actual scooter since, like, 2005,” the boy laughs, grabbing an ice cream scooper. “What’ll it be?”

Harry considers for a moment before he asks for plain chocolate.

“And for the record,” Harry adds, “I haven’t seen a scooter since then, either. But we just moved here, and my step-dad found it in storage.”

The boy nods, packing the ice cream in tight.

“Ah. That explains things. I don’t get _too_ many unfamiliar faces in here. Why’d you decide to come to this hellhole, then…” he trails off, and Harry realises he’s asking for his name.

“Oh! I’m Harry. My step-dad found a new job here, so we just packed up and left…”

“Niall,” the boy confirms, pointing to himself with a plastic spoon before sticking it in Harry’s ice cream. “Wow. That’s rough. Sorry you ended up _here_ of all places.”

Harry frowns at the ambiguity of his statement as he pulls out his wallet.

“This is on the house,” Niall offers, handing the cup to Harry. “What year are you in, then? I hope you’re not expecting much. Our school’s _shit_ , just like everything else here.”

Harry can sense the resentment in his voice. For someone who seemed so upbeat at first glance, Niall seems to be very bitter. “Is it really that bad?”

Niall sighs and leans both elbows on the counter, cradling his face in his hands like they’re going to be here for a while. “Let’s just say a fresh face is the most exciting thing to happen to us since they opened the new Sports Authority. I’m doing a full-out Irish jig up in here because I’m guessing I’m the first person to meet you. It’s truly an honour.”

“Ha. When did you get the Sports Authority?” Harry asks, bracing himself.

Niall sighs. “Probably when my hair was still brown.”

Ah, two interesting facts at once. “Are you messing with me?”

Niall laughs before answering. “Only a little bit. Honestly, though, there’s nothing to do here. Even when someone can get away with throwing a party, it sucks. It’s like a curse or something. The only person born unaffected was my friend Louis. Think he gave up his first-born or something.”

“What’s so special about him?” Harry asks, mildly intrigued. He’s leaning against the counter, his ice cream melting over the brim of the cup and onto his hand, but he’s always been more into gossip than sweets.

“He’s thrown a back to school _rager_ every year since I started growing chest hair. I swear he pays off his neighbours for the noise complaints or something, because half the town is there—our entire school and then the burnouts who’ve already left and are stuck here with nothing better to do. It’s _massive!_ He’s a legend. Give me your phone; I’ll text you the details when it happens.”

Harry hands his phone to Niall, holding back a smile because _he made a friend._ He’s already made a friend. He made a friend two months ahead of schedule. Maybe the rest of his summer won’t be too lame.

“He lives on, like, Gilmy Street or something. Weird name, but I can pick you up if you want.”

Understanding stirs in the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Gilmy Street? Do you... do you mean Gilman?”

Niall squints as he finishes saving his number. “Yeah, actually. Knew it made me think of mermaids.”

Harry fish mouths. “ _I_ live on Gilman Street!”

“No way!” Niall laughs, handing the phone back over. “Have you met Louis? Kind of short, brown hair, small-ish?”

Harry is about to ask about his arse, but he catches himself at the last minute. “Don’t know. Picture of Natalie Portman on his wall?”

Niall shrugs. “Don’t see why he’d have a picture of her on his wall seeing as he’s gay. But I’ve never been in his room. Always stayed downstairs when I’ve been over.”

 _Interesting_.

This is a fascinating turn of events. He might have got the name of _and_ special insider information about his neighbour next door. And he might possibly have 1/18 of a chance of getting to touch the butt one day.

“Wait. What the fuck, Harry? How do you even know that’s in his room?”

***

That night, he spreads out on his stomach across his newly made bed to try to make some progress on his That 70's Show marathon. It’s mostly because his room has a fan and _not_ because he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of his hot neighbour.

Except that it is, and it works. Just as Kelso learns he was not, in fact, Jackie’s Apollo Rocket of Love, the light next-door flickers to life. Harry arches his back so his chest is higher off the bed and twists his ankles together.

He refuses to acknowledge that his pose resembles that of a teenage girl twirling her hair while talking to her crush on the phone, even though it totally does.

He turns his face to the opposite room, smiling in a hello when he and his neighbour make eye contact. His toes curl against his calves in excitement when the boy nods back in greeting.

But then he looks away and plops to the centre of his bed. He oozes exhaustion, one arm covering his eyes and the other hanging limply at his side. Harry almost feels intrusive for staring, but he can’t help it.

Suddenly, the boy springs up, turning to the wall with a worried expression. He frowns, pausing before he stands and walks to his desk.

And Harry’s not sure he has _any_ business being concerned (after all, he’s only seen this boy twice in his entire life.)

But… he is.

Without thinking, he bends over the edge of his bed to grab the notebook and pencil still spread across his floor, hurriedly penning a bold question mark and holding it up so the boy can see.

His neighbour shoves a pair of headphones into his ears as he glances over. Then, biting his lip in deliberation, he grabs a piece of paper and scribbles out a frowning face, taping it to the window as he looks to Harry briefly. After a quick second of eye contact, he walks to the light switch, flips it off, and returns to his bed, burrowing under the covers and facing away from Harry.

Which is puzzling. His pose screams _leave me alone,_ but he could easily have pulled his curtains to achieve that the same result, with less work. He looks _sad_ , but Harry has no idea why.

People don’t normally send surreptitious messages through the form of symbolic emotion and quick glances if they want to be left alone. Right?

 _No._ He’s trying to say something to Harry. He finds himself staring at the boy’s blurry, sleeping form until he drifts off himself, his thoughts clouded and confused, riddled with different, increasingly ludicrous theories as to what he could want.

***

After that, it becomes a _thing._ Harry doesn’t mean to be creepy, but he only has one friend in the whole town, who he’s too afraid to scare off with his overeager, platonic propositions. He settles for sending sporadic texts pondering the best types of ice cream, in hopes that Niall will invite him somewhere.

He doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, though.

_ha harry mate never met anyone as into ice cream as you ! almost think you wanna steal my job_

So, really, it’s just because Harry has nothing _better_ to do, not that he has a ridiculously strange need to figure out this beautiful boy next door.

It’s like clockwork. The boy comes into his room every night around ten, biting his lip in worry before he grabs his iPod and hides out under his blankets. And what’s even weirder is that whenever he grabs his iPod—since his desk is placed right in front of the window— he and Harry make direct eye contact.

And he _knows_ he isn’t imagining it.

The boy stares _right_ into his eyes during each exchange. Harry puts up the question mark every night in hope that something has changed for the better, but the boy always reposts his depressing, sad frowning face. It hangs there, night after night, like it's just begging him to do something,  _anything._

It’s mystifying.

Harry has only ever been able to communicate with his sister and Jonny through just one look, but he feels like he and the boy next door are slowly building up to that.

It feels like they’re building up to _something_.

***

“Meet any cute girls around town?” Robin asks over dinner the next day with a wink.

Harry chokes on his potato, prompting him to down his entire glass of water in one gulp.

“I haven’t really—haven’t really met _anyone_ ,” Harry tells him, looking down to his plate and prodding at his vegetables.

Gender neutral. Vague.

His mum stares at him from under the brim of her glass. “That’s fine, Harry. There’s no rush. Whenever you’re ready.”

He can feel her eyes on him the rest of the meal. Her words feel ominous, like she knows _things_ without him having told her.

***

Harry retreats to his room shortly after dinner. It always leaves a bad taste in his mouth whenever Robin quizzes him about girls and dating, and his mum’s stare just amplifies things.

The sun is just barely setting, casting Harry’s room in a soft, orange glow, so he’s surprised to see that the boy is already in his room, ahead of schedule.

But he isn’t alone. He has a friend over—a friend whose perfect bone structure is visible even through two dirty windows. Harry’s not sure whether to be jealous or whether he wants to lick his jaw.

He bites the inside of his lip at the thought, lowering his eyes and walking to his unopened laptop on his bed once he realises he’s been staring for too long.

He tries to pay attention to Donna’s smack down when she finds panties in Eric’s car, but it’s difficult when there are two of the most attractive people he’s ever seen in the room across from him just— _existing_. Having fun. _Together._

He’s glad his boy is smiling and laughing (and _fuck_ , he doesn’t even know his name, yet, but he’s already referring to him as _his_ boy.)

But, really, he _is_ happy for him. He’s been chasing after his smile for weeks, so his heart feels a bit like bursting at the sight of a barely there imprint of a dimple, but—

Harry might be a little bit _envious_. It feels like his Perfect Friend is intruding on his territory, even though he has absolutely no claim over his neighbour.

It’s just that Harry kind of wishes _he_ was the one making him smile. It feels like he’s missed out on a chance he didn’t even realise he had.

They’re playing guitar and _singing,_ if Harry’s eyes aren’t deceiving him. Gucci Personified is leaning against the wall cross-legged on the bed, and the boy is sitting next to him with the guitar in his hands, picking at the strings. And _laughing_ while he sings.

It’s like he’s glowing. It’s like singing with Mortal Greek God makes his eyes brighter and his skin radiate. It’s—it’s _unexpected_ is what it is.

He’s never seen his boy look so _happy._ Since the first night they nonverbally met, he’s only seen him smile twice (once on the first night and once when he caught Harry dancing around mostly naked, subsequently falling on his face when the light flicked on. He taped a quickly scrawled _Oops_ to his window afterwards.)

So this is new. He hardly recognises the boy in front of him. The boy he’s come to know has always used music to drown out whatever’s going through his mind each night, but this boy uses music for happiness.

It’s almost like he’s two different people.

And Harry realises what he’s truly jealous of is that Calvin Klein Model gets to see this side of the boy probably all the time, while he’s been stuck with the withdrawn, brooding side.

But then it dawns on him, if the boy really has two completely different sides, he gets to see the one most people probably don’t.

And that makes him oddly happy.

He grins when Painful Perfection stands up and leaves the room for a moment; the boy draws him a bright green smiley face and sticks it to the window with a real, blinding smile.

Harry feels smug.

That’s just for him. And he _knows_ it.

***

A few days after the Attack of the Disney Prince, long after his neighbour has already put his headphones in and turned his lights off, Harry is surprised that his light switches on.

He minimises his screen to check the time, pausing at a hilariously timed frame that makes Kelso look like a toad. His eyebrows raise when he notices it’s almost two in the morning.

So Harry turns to the window, confused and just a little bit nosy. Once his neighbour’s out for the night, he’s _out._ And Harry knows he knows next to nothing about this perplexing boy; but from what he’s seen, he seems like the type of person to sleep through an earthquake.

The boy opens his door and glances down, and Harry's eyes are drawn to a little girl in fuzzy, pink pajamas at his feet.

Harry watches as the boy leads her into the room by the hand and closes the door behind him. He drops to his knees in front of her, wiping below her eye with his thumb, and that’s when Harry realises she’s _crying._

The boy’s little sister is crying, and she came to his door.

Harry should probably look away, but his self-control has dwindled since his unparalleld display of restraint that first night.

His neighbour hugs his sister to his chest and cards his fingers through her hair with one hand, speaking to her in what looks like a whisper when he turns his head away from her ear, to the window, like he's just remembered he's not truly alone. Harry can see _distress_ and sadness plainly written all over his face, and he seriously considers setting up the ignored curtains pushed to the corner of his room. 

The moment is so private and quiet that Harry feels ridiculously invasive and intrusive for watching, a voyeur in a completely new way.

The boy seems to feel the same, because, for the first time since Harry’s lived here, he walks to the window and shuts his curtains without sparing him another glance.

Some things are too personal. Harry wasn’t supposed to see that.

He’s not sure how he feels about it.

***

The next night, Harry is unsure of what to expect from the boy. But at ten on the dot his light switches on. Harry watches as he makes his way straight to his desk, immediately taping the frown to the window.

But Harry has been prepared for his arrival for over ten minutes. He has his own sign written out, _I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)_ in big, bold letters surrounded by musical notes— a strategic, uplifting song suggestion.

The boy’s face while he hugged his crying sister is burned into Harry’s brain, and he just wants to see him _smile._ Music always makes Harry feel better when he’s sad; and now that he knows this boy is more than just a casual listener, he thinks maybe it can be a sort of bonding experience.

Maybe he’ll fall helplessly in love with Harry because of his impeccable music taste, and they’ll live happily ever after.

It probably happened in an 80’s movie, anyway. It’s _possible._

The boy half-smiles as he reads Harry’s sign, and then pulls his laptop out. He plugs his headphones into the side before he types quickly and clicks.

He bobs his head as he listens. Harry tries not to watch him as it happens, but it’s almost like he can see the tension leak out of his shoulders.

The boy’s eventual paper smile and physical, shy grin please Harry more than they should.

***

One night, the boy doesn’t come home at all. Harry pretends it doesn’t bother him, but even Red’s jokes about putting his foot up Eric’s arse can’t produce a real laugh from him. The theme song he used to feel solidarity with only makes him feel sad and pathetic. He has nobody to hang out with, and the people he misses the most are nowhere near down the street.

Jonny and Eliis’ texts are brief and apologetic, like they’re afraid to give Harry the full story of their nights since he’s stuck two hours away. It’s weird and new, and he feels shut out even though he knows they’re doing it in consideration of his feelings.

He’s so _lonely_.

He’s lonely, and the one halfway-companion he’s got used to seeing every night and wordlessly spending time with is gone. He falls asleep frowning, vowing to grow some balls and actually introduce himself to the boy next door for real.

Soon. 

*** 

Harry stalls. It’s much easier to decide to do something when the opportunity feels like it’s in the far off, distant future. He knows he’ll get _around_ to it, but the opportunity presents itself early the next morning, much before he’s prepared.

Harry is innocently scrolling through his Twitter feed, basking in the momentary, pleasant temperature while propped up by his pillows when the boy comes into his room.

And that’s _weird_. The only time Harry usually sees him is at night (probably because he has friends and has better things to do in the summer than sit around in his room. Unlike Harry. He tries not to feel too sorry for himself.)

But the boy strips his shirt off, peering in through the window and waving to Harry like it isn’t something unusual. Harry chokes on his saliva in his haste to wave back because they don’t outright acknowledge each other unless there’s a note to set the mood on the window first.

This is new. This is good. This is _relationship growth_. Maybe now Harry won’t feel bad about himself if he chickens out on introducing himself.

The boy has one of those strange contraptions that connects to the tops of doorframes, and Harry realises with wide eyes that he’s about to work out.

And his heart stops.

The boy is going to work out in his room. In front of Harry. _With no shirt on_. He’ll be able to watch the ripple in his muscles each time he flexes and moves in stunningly high definition.

He watches without even trying to hide it, his whole body turned to the window and his laptop shoved to the side, his Twitter feed completely forgotten. He’s chewing on his fingernail with sweat steadily building along his hairline, and he’s already half-hard in his shorts.

It turns out the boy is even stronger than he looks. Harry is forced to dig his fingernails into his thighs so he doesn’t pull his dick out and scare him off.

He can do the easy pull-ups _and_ the hard ones, and he hardly looks like he’s breaking a sweat. Harry is equal parts jealous and turned on.

And his lungs are probably about to give out. It’s a shame his inhaler is still packed away in one of the boxes in the corner.

What an unfortunate death. He can imagine the article now: _Horny 16-year-old boy dies while spying on his hot neighbour. In lieu of flowers, please send a charitable donation to the Center for Sex-Crazed Youths._

The boy _knows_ what he’s doing. He knows Harry’s _watching_.

Oh God. He knows he’s watching him.

They made eye contact _. Eye contact._ They acknowledged each other. This is indisputably purposeful.

Harry decides things are changing once the boy takes a long drink of water. His throat is bared, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows, and Harry knows resistance is futile. The boy meanders into the bathroom innocently, like he doesn’t know Harry has his eyes unwaveringly trained on him, all while he teases the waistband of his shorts with his thumb and forefinger suggestively.

And he cruelly pulls them down all the way just as he walks through the door. Harry gets his cock out and pulls one off as quickly as he can once he’s through (which turns out to be very, very, very quickly.)

He thinks through the fuzzy cloud once he comes down. He’s not sure who’s home next door, but he needs to find an excuse to talk to the boy.

A halfway-believable excuse. Or quarter-way believable. He’s not too picky at this point. Anything that makes sense.

He rushes downstairs, aware that his neighbour’s shower will be over soon, and frantically rummages through the unfamiliar kitchen cabinets.

He finds a measuring cup and holds it up to the light like it’s the Holy Grail as he takes in a few calming breaths.

He justifies his actions as he traipses next door, reminding himself that the easiest way neighbours meet in movies is by asking to borrow sugar.

He can be cool for two minutes. Meeting, introduction, small talk.

(Maybe an added make out session, but Harry really doesn’t want to get his hopes up too high.)

He shuffles his weight from foot to foot after he rings the doorbell, anxiety searing through his veins.

He’s practically an _adult._ He shouldn’t be acting like this. This boy is just a boy—an admittedly amazingly _attractive_ boy—but they’re neighbours. It would be rude _not_ to introduce himself since they see each other practically every night, anyway. This is truly common courtesy—

He’s shaken out of his thoughts as the door swings open, revealing _the boy_ with dripping hair and a blue towel around his waist.

Harry gulps. Last time he saw him with just a towel on, he ended up seeing much more.

He wasn’t expecting this. The boy is literally naked underneath his towel, but he’s smirking at Harry like he knows exactly why he’s here, so he already has the upper hand.

“I—sugar. I need sugar—“ Harry blurts, because up close the boy’s eyes are the most striking blue he’s ever seen. His cheekbones could cut concrete, and his skin is golden, clear, and smooth, other than a barely-there scattering of freckles along his cheek.

Fuck. He wasn’t prepared. It’s worse than he thought. This boy is as mythical as the Tooth Fairy.

The move must have been a figment of his imagination. He pinches his thigh with his free hand, but he doesn’t wake up.

“You need sugar?” the boy asks, one hand still on the doorknob and one on his hip, his voice higher than Harry expected.

He nods, adding a quick _please_ while the boy just stares at him with mischievously narrowed eyes.

But then he opens the door, gesturing for Harry to pass through. Harry smiles (grimaces) as he passes him, taking in the entryway as the charged silence stretches on.

There’s no acknowledgment of the fact that they’ve halfway met by staring at each other through their windows. The unspoken words are slightly disconcerting, but—

It’s fine. That would be too much explaining. The boy doesn’t seem unhappy, and Harry wouldn’t know how to react if the boy confronted him about the Towel Drop Incident or Little Sister Scene, anyway.

_Don’t forget to breathe._

The entryway has a similar set up to his, so he turns to the left on a hunch.

The house is tidy, but obviously lived in. There are a few unmistakable juice stains on the carpet, and he imagines the dolls in pink and purple dresses thrown across the room outnumber the number of people living in the house. It gives him a brief, unexpected twinge of longing for his old home because he remembers the green paint stain he made at eight and covered with a rug, and how his mum had yelled at him for five full minutes when she found it a week later.

He’s smiling in remembrance when he makes it to the kitchen, but he realises he has no idea where they keep their sugar.

“Don’t know where we keep the sugar,” the boy echoes his thoughts, hopping up onto the counter carelessly. Like he isn’t afraid of his towel catching and falling to the floor.

Fuck. He has no shame. He _has to_ know what he’s doing to Harry. “My culinary skills only extend to mac and cheese. What’cha making?”

“Okay. Um… I’m making… macaroons. Realised halfway through we don’t have any sugar.”

“Oh, is that _so_?” the boy asks slowly with a teasing smile.

And Harry remembers they had been eye communicating only minutes earlier. He’s caught in an outright lie.

“I’m Harry,” he blurts in defeat, leaning against the stove.

The boy pushes his wet hair out of his face. “Louis.”

 _Louis._ This is Louis.

This is the boy Niall was talking about.

“Why do you have a poster of Natalie Portman on your wall if you’re _gay_?” Harry blurts again, because it’s suddenly glaringly apparent that he lacks tact and a sensor when there are cute boys nearby.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

Harry panics. “Niall told me. We were talking about you, and—“

“I’ve never even heard your name until today. Why were you _talking_ about me?”

This conversation is 500 light-years away from where Harry wants it to be.

“Oh my God. That came out completely wrong. We weren’t _talking_ about you. You just came up, and then Niall just mentioned it and I—"

Louis is looking at him like he’s speaking a foreign language.

His brain combusts into a million tiny fragments.

“I like guys, too! I’m not, like—“ Harry gasps as he it dawns on him what he’s just said.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of his sexuality or anything, it’s just that he’s only ever explicitly told his sister, Jonny, and Ellis. He lowers his eyes to the floor, breathing out unsteadily. “Sorry— I’m not exactly _out_ ,” Harry explains after a few moments of worrying silence, horrified that his voice sounds shaky, like he’s about to cry.

And he wants to sink into the scuffed wooden floor because he suddenly feels ridiculously vulnerable even though Louis’ the one practically naked. There’s something indescribably terrifying about breaking off an untouched piece of yourself and giving it to someone without building any trust first, and Harry has only properly known this boy for less than five minutes.

Harry vaguely realises through the white noise currently taking hold of his brain that he’s trembling and it’s hard to breathe, even though he’s sure Louis _probably_ had the general idea since he was practically drooling while watching him work out earlier.

It’s just that saying it out loud makes everything feel five times as real.

“I’ll just—I’m sorry. I’ll go,” he mumbles, turning to make his way through the hallway, but fingers wrapping around his wrist stop him.

“I’m not mad,” Louis tells him soothingly, turning him back around. “Niall’s a good guy. So I know you weren’t talking about me unkindly.”

Harry sniffles, still shaking with adrenaline and secretly longing to escape.

“And for the other part…” Louis trails off lowly with a sigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into Harry’s wrist. His eyes are kind and comforting, crinkled at the corners when he sends Harry a private smile. “I won’t tell anyone, I _promise_. As you know, I’ve been there.”

He pauses significantly, his expression sincere. “If you ever want to talk or something… you know where I live,” he offers, laughing.

Harry lets out a halfhearted, watery chuckle as well. He’s not sure what the appropriate response would be after accidentally outing himself to an almost complete stranger, but Louis saves him with a squeeze to his wrist and a sudden, frank exclamation.

“Well! I’m _honoured_ to have been the subject of your unplanned coming out, but I think that’s enough feelings for today. The sugar?”

It’s a welcome and effective diversion.

And… that’s that. The world didn’t crumble below his feet at his admission, and his great-grandparents didn’t rise from the dead to drag him to hell. Harry smiles and times his breathing as he searches through the cabinets.

It will be okay.

And it strikes Harry, then, as he secretly stares at Louis casually kicking his heels against the cabinet, that he isn’t at all how Harry imagined him in person. He’s calm and collected, with a certain confident, vibrant energy radiating from him effortlessly. Right here and now, he isn’t the boy hiding under his covers every night and staring into Harry’s soul like he’s searching for something he’s not sure is there.

Harry doesn’t even see the _ghost_ of that boy in him. Right now, he’s in control, invulnerable, _secure_. There’s no sadness. Only a cool, self-assured exterior.

It’s unexpected, but, then again, Harry knows first impressions are hardly ever _correct._

And Harry doesn’t want to make _assumptions_ because he’s just met this boy (though Harry has always been observant and emotionally intuitive); but he has a hunch that Louis’ current persona is more of a façade than the one he’s accustomed to.

He’s seen below the mask. But if Louis isn’t going to bring up their nighttime routine, then neither is he. It would be _much_ too personal of a topic for their first official meeting, anyway.

Harry shakes his head to clear it, standing on his tip toes to search the top shelf. When he finds the sugar he pours it into the measuring cup, but he spills because of his still shaking hands.

Louis laughs and tells him he’ll forgive him if he brings him one of the macaroons.

“Macaroons?” Harry asks, before he remembers his lie. “I mean—yeah! Of course.”

He burns the macaroons; but when he brings them over later, Louis ruffles his hair and tells him they taste fine.

***

That night, a rap to Harry’s window wakes him.

He’s prepared to grab the cricket bat he keeps below his bed, but once he squints his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he realises _Louis_ is the one knocking.

_He’s standing on his roof._

It’s much too late for this.

Or early. Harry’s unsure of the time.

He jumps out of bed in alarm, opens his window, and pulls Louis inside.

“Are you crazy?” he whisper-yells, too surprised to censor himself and still half asleep. He presses up close to the window to get a better visual on how far Louis must have had to jump to get here. “Do you have a secret death wish? Why are you—why are you _here_?”

Louis leans against the wall casually, his eyes to the floor. It’s then that Harry takes in his clothing—a hoodie and baggy sweatpants and the blanket and bag clutched in his arms.

And then Harry is painfully aware he’s in just his boxers, terribly underdressed for a nighttime rendezvous.

“I figured since we’re properly acquainted now, I’d invite you to do the most exciting thing this town has to offer at three in the morning.”

Harry doesn’t really know the correct response to Louis’ sudden invitation. After all, he’s only met him once, and he seems to dabble in trespassing, and it’s _three in the morning._

But he also knows he’s missed hanging out with people his own age and that Louis is attractive and infinitely more interesting than the confines of his four walls, so he agrees without a second thought.

“Um. Can I put some clothes on first?” Harry asks, pointing to his dresser.

Louis smirks and reaches forward, unexpectedly twisting Harry’s nipple. “Think you need to. Don’t want one of those poking me in the eye.”

Louis throws himself onto Harry’s bed without asking for permission while he waits.

“God, Harry. This isn’t Britain’s Next Top Model. Hurry up.”

***

Harry was anticipating Louis driving, but it appears he has other plans.

“Don’t worry; it’s close,” he tells Harry. The street is silent as they walk along it, the only sound the slow gust of the wind and the occasional bark of a dog.

Louis walks along the edge of the pavement with his arms out like it’s a balance beam, and Harry watches out of the corner of his eye. He still can’t get a firm grasp on him—he’s childish, but seems like a responsible older brother, and confident, but hides under his covers each night.

He’s a paradox, as straightforward as a rainbow, and Harry doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he decides to get to the bottom of him.

“Where exactly are we going, then?” Harry asks, testing the waters and pushing Louis into the road.

After he rebalances, he stares up at Harry with his mouth open, like he’s impressed but shocked. He seems too stunned to speak for a moment. “I don’t know about _you_ , but I’m climbing to the school roof. And you’re definitely _un-_ invited.”

With that, Louis races ahead of him, the slap of the soles of his shoes loud on the concrete. Harry chases him, squawking once Louis turns the corner and he can’t see him anymore.

He follows, but he pauses with his hands on his knees to catch his breath once he realises Louis is hiding from him. It’s silent all around, without even the rustle of a leaf.

It’s eerie, and Harry feels a sudden spike of fear through his spine.

“Louis?” he whispers into the night, standing straight. He looks ahead, left, right, and even behind him, but he’s nowhere to be found.

He sighs and begins his reluctant search with the bush in the front of the house to the left. He creeps up the lawn and ducks down to inspect the area, but there are no feet in sight.

After a studious inspection of the next two houses, Harry begins to lose hope.

“Louis!” he calls out, louder now. Two cars have passed; and every time headlights fade across his body, he’s irrationally afraid he’s one car closer to being the victim of a freak kidnapping.

“This isn’t funny!”

No answer.

“I’m sorry I pushed you over,” he tries, standing with his legs pulled close and his arms crossed over his body.

And then he feels a body crash into his back, and he lets out an embarrassing, high-pitched scream.

But it’s just Louis. He’s tackled him to the grass, and Harry licks his hand once he feels it covering his mouth to shut him up.

He’s not exactly sure they’re at that point in their relationship, but it feels right. Louis would no doubt do the same to him.

Fuck, Harry would _encourage_ Louis to lick his hand if it meant he got to touch his—

“You _dick,_ ” Harry murmurs once Louis pulls him vertical, but then he kindly wipes every single blade of grass from his bum, and his thoughts get caught in his throat.

“It’s not my fault I was ambushed by opportunity. That tree was calling my name. It _wanted_ me to climb it,” Louis explains, now keeping a watchful, careful distance from Harry.

He keeps the distance until they reach the school. Once they reach the perimeter, Louis points out the human-sized hole at the bottom of the chain-link fence and watches Harry squeeze through, concealing giggles behind his palm.

“I’d like to see you do better,” Harry grumbles once he makes it through, but he eats his words when Louis slides through as gracefully as a ballerina.

Harry follows Louis across the grass, only able to see a small radius around him. It’s pitch black, without the yellow glow of a streetlamp or lights from inside the school. It’s unnerving, but he feels unnaturally safe in Louis’ presence, though they’ve only just met.

“Hold this,” Louis orders him once they reach the main building. They stop next to a railing by a water fountain, but Harry’s doubtful they’ll be able to climb to the roof from here. He watches carefully as Louis swings his leg over the railing to sit on it, and then brings his feet up and stands.

“Blanket and bag,” Louis demands.

Harry passes it without pause. Louis tosses them both to the roof and grabs the edge.

“You have to do it _exactly_ like this,” he reminds Harry deliberately. It’s hard to see through the darkness, but he makes out Louis’ foot stepping into a dip in the beam supporting the building, and he figures he’ll be able to go from there.

But it turns out he’s very wrong. He _almost_ falls and breaks his head open, but Louis catches him around the wrist.

“Harry. _Harry._ You really need to work on your listening skills,” Louis lectures him once he’s sprawled out across the dirty roof on his stomach, clutching to the tiles like they’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m not accustomed to breaking and entering like you seem to be,” Harry answers through his panting.

Louis shrugs and spreads the stained blanket taut before he unzips his backpack.

“Alright, calm down. You’re _fine_. Salty or sweet?” Louis asks as Harry sits up.

“I—“

“No time!”

“Uh—sweet?” Harry answers impulsively, like it’s a question. He crawls onto the blanket beside Louis, and he hands him a pint of ice cream and a spoon.

“That’s for you. And this is for me,” he grins, opening a bag of Doritos.

“What _is_ this? A picnic on the roof in the middle of the night?”

Louis shrugs his shoulders, shoving a crisp into his mouth. “I guess. I like to come here some nights when I can’t sleep.”

Harry wants to ask him to elaborate, but he bites his tongue.

“Alright,” he settles, removing the ice cream lid and laying back.

It’s actually a beautiful night out. The stars are bright and glimmering, it isn’t too cold, and Harry only feels one spider crawl across his ankle. The roof tiles aren’t too pointy, and Harry could _almost_ imagine falling asleep here if Louis wasn’t chattering beside him, pointing out each constellation and retelling the stories of how they came to be.

“Do you see Leo?” he asks.

Harry squints, bringing his face closer to Louis’ so he can see where he’s pointing more clearly.

“I don’t see a lion,” Harry tells him honestly. They’re so close Harry thinks he should _probably_ pull away because he’s entered Louis’ bubble of personal space, but he doesn’t.

Louis groans, pointing to a blue-ish star. “That’s called Regulus. That’s supposed to be the lion’s heart.”

Harry squints, but he doesn’t see how the constellation is supposed to represent a lion in any way, shape, or form.

“Oh. _Yeah_ … I can see it now,” Harry lies just to please him.

Louis flicks him in the arm. “You’re a terrible liar, but I’ll tell you the story, anyway. Okay, so, Hercules was supposed to have killed the lion, even though his skin was magical and impenetrable and shit. So to get around that problem, he strangled him. And then Hercules detached one of his claws and he used Leo’s _own claw_ to skin him. His own claw! That’s just rude—adding insult to injury, and all that. And _then,_ to make things worse, the self-centred shit wore the skin as protection, so every other lion knew he was the alpha and didn’t mess with him.”

Harry turns his head so he’s staring at Louis’ too close profile, marveling at the impossible length of his eyelashes. “Are you _sure_ that’s how it happened? Wasn’t Hercules supposed to be a hero?”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes still to the sky. “Afraid not. That’s all propaganda from the meatpacking industry. They’re subconsciously getting into our minds to prevent us from becoming vegetarians. Trying to paint killing animals as heroic and all.”

Harry can’t stifle his giggle. “Are you a vegetarian, Louis?”

Louis’ eventual answering _no_ is quiet and ashamed.

“To be fair, the lion wasn’t _completely_ innocent, either,” Louis belatedly adds.

During a comfortable lull in conversation, Harry decides to mention The Thing. It’s skating into dangerous territory, since they haven’t acknowledged anything about the window, but he figures it’s better now than later.

Sometimes there’s a short window for when events are acceptable to bring up. And then if you wait too long, things turn awkward. He’s simply preserving their future.

And also, he’s curious. Louis is perfectly pleasant, not gloomy at all. Harry almost suspects him of pretending to be sad each night to get his attention (as vain as that sounds), but he remembers the night with his sister and kills the thought.

“You know, before we actually _met,_ I thought you were a completely different person.”

Louis shrugs at that, seemingly nonplussed as he scratches at his shoulder. “Everyone has more than one personality. You have one with your friends, and then one with your family, one with your coworkers and boss, one with your _lover_ , one when you’re alone. The list goes on and on and on. Humans are complex creatures, Harry. Give it a few years, and you’ll understand that, too.”

Louis exaggeratedly winks at him. Harry scoffs, his attention successfully diverted. “If that’s true, how do you know which one is the real you? You’d be, like, six different people.”

“I don’t know,” Louis admits quietly. “Been trying to figure that one out for a while.”

It isn’t until later, when both of them are in their respective beds and the sun is rising, that Harry realises he dodged the question.

***

After that, Harry is desperate to see Louis whenever he can. He still sees him almost every night at ten when Louis reverts to his natural habitat of resembling a glum, hibernating bear, but it’s hardly enough. He wants to hang out, to do _something_ with someone other than his parents now that he’s got a taste of it.

He knows Louis would probably be up for hanging out again since it went well (it went _really_ well, Harry hopes), but—he’s nervous. He kind of, maybe, possibly _likes_ Louis a little. He’s fun and fascinating, but Harry has absolutely no experience with trying to get a boy to like him back. It’s a depressing predicament, especially because Harry has never been someone to let another intimidate him.

But as the days trickle by like molasses, he begins to go _mad_ with loneliness. He hasn’t texted Niall anything more substantial than his quick comment about the circus animal ice cream Louis gave him to eat on the roof, so Harry decides to one-up himself and go to visit him at work. It seems like the less daunting option (rather than climbing through Louis’ window, which he’s closer to considering with each passing minute.)

Ice cream _and_ casual conversation. It’s the perfect plan—if he can find the ice cream shop, again. He decides to take the scooter to make things faster.

And Harry surprises himself; it only takes him _twice_ the time it should to find it.

The bell tinkles just as softly as it did the first time. Niall wanders in from the backroom in no hurry but grins when he sees Harry leaning against the counter.

“Harry! How’s it going, mate?”

Harry shrugs and smiles, genuinely happy to see Niall again. “Going okay, I guess. Been a little bored.”

Niall gives him a significant look. “Well, then. Now you truly belong.”

Harry groans, inviting Niall over like he’d pathetically practiced on the way there. “We have a hot tub in our backyard. Is it too early in our friendship for me to ask if you want to come over tonight to break it in? I’m pretty sure there’s bubbles and everything.”

Harry gives him the saddest eyes he can manage without looking like he’s trying to be manipulative. Niall drums his fingers on the counter, considering.

“Actually, that sounds _perfect_. I was planning on seeing a movie with this girl I’ve been after since before my balls dropped. But if I could bring her over, too, I can introduce you to someone new,  _and_ I won’t have to pay for an overpriced movie. _And_ she might wear a bikini.”

Niall looks like someone whose dreams have come true. Harry is glad he’s excited to hang out.

“That’s great, Niall. Would you be—I live right next door to Louis. Should I—should I maybe invite him, too?”

He’s going for casual (and hoping Niall will volunteer to text Louis and invite him himself.)

“Yeah! The more the merrier, right? It was kind of going to be a date, so more might be better, anyway. Wouldn’t want you to feel awkward third wheeling it.”

They decide on 8 o’ clock, and Harry leaves the shop feeling a bit more excited to be alive (though he forgets to buy any ice cream.)

He mulls over the most casual way to invite Louis over as he rides back home on the scooter.

He supposes a note on the window would be fitting, but he’d rather see him in person, again…

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost passes the mini bake sale in front of Louis’ house.

“I _said_ would you like to buy some sweets, mister?” a little girl yells to him from standing on a fold-up chair behind the table perched at the edge of the grass.

Harry skids to a sudden stop, feeling like a complete jerk for ignoring her the first time. He scans the table, raking his eyes over an assortment of differently coloured cupcakes and delicious-looking rice krispie cakes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. How much for a rice krispie cake?” he asks, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and letting the scooter fall to the concrete.

“25p,” the girl replies proudly. Harry pulls his money from his pocket, jumping when an identical little girl runs down the garden and picks his scooter up from the cement.

Before he can react, Louis is rushing out the door. “Phoebs! That isn’t your sc— _Harry_?”

Harry smiles uncertainly as he takes the treat from the twin. “Hey. It’s totally fine. It’s not even mine. Really.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest with a calculating look and a poorly disguised smile. “ _Sure_ it isn’t.”

Harry flushes, and it isn’t from the strong rays of sunshine. “It’s my _sister’s.”_

“Didn’t realise you had a sister,” Louis teases him. Harry rolls his eyes.

“She’s older. I meant to say it _used_ to be hers. I think your little sister would get more use out of it than either of us, though. She can have it.”

Louis watches her zoom across the pavement with fond eyes.

“If you’re sure. But now I’ll have to find some way to _repay_ you,” Louis insists, and Harry almost thinks he’s _flirting_ with him.

But he isn’t sure. He should probably look it up online for confirmation.

But _then_ he realises this is actually a perfect set-up.

His generosity is instantly being rewarded. The universe must be making up for turning his life upside down. “Come over tonight. Niall’s coming over, and we’re going hot tubbing!”

He tries to inflect enthusiasm in his voice, but it comes out more questioning than anything.

Louis bites his bottom lip in deliberation before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I was planning on hanging with my friends Liam and Zayn, but I can invite them, too, since I know you probably don’t have any friends. I mean… _Yet_. I mean, _fuck_ , no offense.”

Harry laughs at the half-horrified expression on his face. “No, that sounds great! You’re right. I’m not above using my resources and fishing for new friends.”

Louis nods. “Well, in that case, should I tell them to invite people, too?”

“Of course,” Harry tells him, adding to come over at 8.

Harry gives himself a mental pat on the back. He’s planned a casual night of making new friends and getting to know the two friends he’s already made.

And he’ll be able to see Louis without his shirt on, again. He’s pumped.

He makes his way inside his house and eats the cake in one bite. It’s sweet.

***

The thing is, Harry was very, very, _very_ wrong when he assumed tonight would be a casual night to make friends. Tonight is possibly number one on his list of the most awkward nights of his life, rivaled only by the night his mum came rushing into his room in concern over _sounds_ and caught him with a vibrator up his arse.

Harry unintentionally invited Louis on a quadruple date. He didn’t even know those were things.

But they are. They 500% _are_ real things because he’s living one in real time, though he’s not sure he’ll survive and be able to tell anyone about it.

Tonight is the night Barbara decided she’s hopelessly in love with Niall as well, and they aren’t being subtle. She’s in his lap, valiantly pretending to be completely impressed with his puny arms, and Niall looks like he’s in a dream.

There’s no way Harry could interrupt their bubble. They’re practically honeymooning.

Sadly, Louis’ friends Liam and Zayn (who Harry recognised at first glance to be Louis’ friend Perfect) brought girls as well.

But he felt a sudden relief when Zayn introduced him to his girlfriend Perrie. And Harry still doesn’t want to think about the reason _why_ too much, but he’s pretty sure it might be because now he knows Louis isn’t into Zayn, and his jealousy has subsided.

But Harry becomes jealous again when he sees that Zayn has already mastered the world at seventeen, casually slinging his arm around his girlfriend in the way self-assured men do in every single movie he’s ever seen. Perrie’s head is on his shoulder, and she’s whispering into his ear.

He’s smiling with soft eyes, and the smile is so private Harry can’t even think of interrupting them.

Liam brought his on-again off-again girlfriend; but Harry is almost _positive_ they’re currently _on_ again because her arm is under the water line, and the look on Liam’s face is—fuck.

Harry can’t even _look_ at those two, much less interrupt them. Which leaves Louis as his only real company for the evening.

But Louis is across from him in the tub, sitting and presumably _bored_ with his arms crossed at his stomach, his legs pulled up so his knees poke through the water like misplaced boobs, his face blank like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Harry’s overly aware of his body. Each position feels wrong, and he isn’t sure whether to school his expression into one of subtle disgust while he stares at the bubbles of dead skin cells in the corner or to keep it pleasantly vacant in case Louis comes up with something to say.

They haven’t spoken for at least five tense minutes. Every time Harry tries to start up an interesting topic of conversation, the words get caught in his throat and his mouth opens stupidly, without making any sound.

But more than that, he’s unsure Louis would even be able to hear him if he were to say something. Harry supposes he could shout to him over the bubbling, but he imagines it would be much less awkward to just cross the short distance to the other side and take the empty spot next to Louis.

It’s not like anyone but Louis would even notice. Fuck it.

He wades through the water and sits beside him.

But as soon as the water settles, he realises now it’s even more awkward. There’s no excuse for the silence, other than the fact that Harry has no idea what to say to him. Things feel somehow _different_ now compared to when they were on the school roof together, since it isn’t the dead of night and there are others around. It’s like their bubble has burst, and combined with the three uncomfortably affectionate couples around them, Harry would almost rather step on needles than endure the rest of the night.

He doesn’t know what to do with his arms. He wishes he could copy Zayn’s casual, _I do this everyday_ stance, but he’s not sure Louis would be okay with it. It’s not like they’re on a planned date.

Or wait— _are they_? Did he mention to Louis that Niall was bringing a girl? Did Louis specifically tell Zayn and Liam to bring their girlfriends? Is there something he’s unaware of going on?

God. Louis looks like he’d rather attend a lecture on the history of Bulgaria’s economy than sit here next to him. This may be even _worse_ than the Vibrator Incident; maybe the drain will swallow him whole, and he can live as a merman for the rest of his life.

But he squeaks when he feels Louis’ calf against his.

And now he’s distracted because Louis’ skin is soft and _slippery_ and warm. And he’s not moving his leg.

Red alert. Louis’ leg is touching his, and he isn’t removing it.

Too much is happening. Harry’s brain isn’t capable of processing everything at once.

This is _definitely_ flirting. No doubt about it. But Harry has never flirted so obviously with a boy unless he had five shots in his system, and nothing meaningful has ever truly come out of it. This holds unexpected _promise_ because he and Louis are neither drunk nor high.

“I—good night for stars,” Harry blurts out, the first thing that comes to mind to say that doesn’t involve embarrassing himself _too_ badly.

Louis looks up pointedly, and Harry remembers his Jacuzzi is not a built-in Jacuzzi. They’re underneath a roof. Harry _has_ embarrassed himself badly.

“I—I mean outside. Not here. There’s a roof,” he adds unhelpfully, his voice high and embarrassed.

Fuck. He feels so tense, but Louis looks as calm and cool as an untouched lake. He needs to escape to get his thoughts together.

“I’m really—I’m getting some water. Do you want some?” Harry asks, already half climbing out of the water.

“Sure,” Louis laughs at his haste, and then Harry is rushing through the backdoor and into his kitchen, his face in his hands in mortification.

His mum is by the fridge, baking macaroons that will probably turn out much tastier than Harry’s burned ones.

“Harry, you’re going to drip _all over_ —oh, are you okay?” she asks, taking in Harry’s panicked expression. “What’s wrong?”

Harry doesn’t know how to tell her his woes; he’s such a teenager. He begins to babble unintelligibly.

“He was touching—I _might_ be on an accidental date with the boy next door? I didn’t know what to say, and we didn’t—“

He stops when he sees the abrupt confusion on his mum’s face.

He closes his eyes in dread and defeat. Now he’s unintentionally come out to _two_ people, all because of Louis.

And it’s not that he’s afraid of her reaction, because he knows she’s the most amazing mother in the world and that she more than likely already knows. He’s been planning on telling her _eventually—_ but.

It’s not that he wasn’t ready. It’s that he wasn’t _prepared._

But she takes the news in stride, casually wiping her hands off on her apron and grabbing his. “Okay. That’s okay, Harry,” she smiles, squeezing his fingers between hers. “This is _exciting_. Do you like this boy?”

Harry swallows but nods, bending forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder and avoid her eyes. “I don’t know if it’s a date, though. Those were the most awkward thirty minutes of my life.”

She rubs his back comfortingly, speaking lightly. “Just talk to him like he’s a person. That’s all dating is, really. Make eye contact and listen well. Be _honest_. Smile to let him know you’re interested. You can touch him, too; don’t overthink things.”

“Easier said than done, I think. But thanks for the advice, mum,” Harry breathes out, trying to file every piece of advice into his brain. “And thanks for—yeah, thanks. For not pushing me, like, before,” he finishes self-consciously.

“I love you, baby,” she tells him with a smile before kissing his forehead. “No matter what.”

By the time Harry is sliding the back door shut with two water bottles grasped in his hand, he’s _considerably_ calmer. He wasn’t expecting to feel such a colossal _relief_ by telling his mum this one tiny tidbit of information, but now he feels like he can take on anything.

It feels like a ten-pound weight he’d never even noticed has been removed from his chest. He feels free. Exhilarated.

Fuck. He’s done pretending.

It’s a testament to the technology age that he figures the easiest way to come out to everyone else would be to switch his _interested in_ on Facebook.

He feels on top of the world.

He slides in beside Louis and throws his arm around his shoulder, passing the bottle on the opposite side like the charming young man his Nan always tells him he is.

“For you,” he says, remembering his mum’s advice, making eye contact and smiling.

Louis takes the bottle with questioningly squinted eyes, clearly confused by Harry’s sudden change in demeanour. “Thanks...”

Harry watches his throat as he sips, sliding their knees together.

Louis sets the bottle to the side, looking Harry up and down. “Why are you _staring_ at me like that?”

Harry’s breath hitches. Surely he wasn’t being _too_ creepy or obvious?

Maybe he should tone it down, but it just feels like there’s joy permeating from his heart to his fingertips to his toes, and he can’t keep it in.

“I was just—Louis, I just came out to my _mum,”_ Harry gushes, remembering that he’s already told him.

He doesn’t even lower his voice. There’s no doubting the entire group may have heard him, but he’s surprisingly _glad_ they might know.

Louis doesn’t seem to know the best way to respond. “Are you—seriously?”

Harry nods excitedly, his eyes widening when Louis tucks himself closer into Harry's side and wraps his arms around his middle, a wave of water splashing between their chests. “That’s great, Harry. I’m so _happy_ for you,” he whispers into his ear.

Harry hugs him back, his cheeks stinging from the strain of smiling.

He remembers the old phrase about one door closing, only for another to open. And it isn’t that he’s happy he was forced out of the door of his old life, but he’s glad that if he was forced to walk through a new one, it’s this door.

Harry’s thoughts are running a million miles a minute. His face might be stuck permanently smiling, and his heart feels like it’s hammering too fast to be healthy, but it feels _good_. It feels right.

“Ayy! Looks like the Tommo might finally get some action,” Niall calls from across the hot tub.

Louis pulls away from him, and Harry frowns at the sudden chill when the wind hits his wet skin. “Niall. Do I need to remind you how long you’ve been pining after—“

“No!” Niall shouts, covering Barbara’s ears with his hands, splashing Zayn in the face with hot water in the process.

“Seriously?” Zayn rolls his eyes, wiping his face with this free hand.

The banter continues from there, and Harry finds himself with Louis pressed close to his side.

And his skin is slick against his, slippery and smooth and better than anything Harry has probably ever felt in his entire life. He touches Louis carefully, reverently, in awe that Louis is allowing his arm around his neck and his fingers to press against his shoulder.

“Want to go to the roof again tonight?” Louis whispers to him once their fingers are sufficiently pruned and wrinkled.

“If I’m still—“ Harry begins, but he’s cut off by Zayn climbing out of the tub, steam rising from his skin as he reaches for his towel.

“Think we’re all about five minutes from heat stroke,” he jokes, and Louis untangles himself from Harry’s hold.

“I’m agreeing with Zayn on this one.”

Everyone makes their escape through Harry’s side gate so as not to drip onto the carpet, but Harry grabs Louis’ wrist and asks him to stay back.

Once it’s just the two of them shivering beneath the flickering light of the streetlamp, Harry grins.

“What time?”

***

Harry never thought his life would ever come to the point where he would wake up to objects being thrown at his window, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes and turns to his alarm clock, the red numbers blurring as his vision comes into focus.

It’s hardly past one in the morning. Harry shouldn’t be awake. It’s _two hours_ before he and Louis are supposed to meet at the wilting tree separating their front gardens. He deserves two more hours of sleep.

He climbs out of bed to let Louis in, anyway.

He stumbles through, grabbing Harry’s shoulders to catch himself as he crashes into his bare chest.

“Sorry! Really sorry. That was clumsy of me.”

Harry steadies him with both hands to his waist, his grip weak and lax due to him still being half asleep.

“I thought you wanted to wait until ‘the witching hour’ to do this.” Harry makes air quotes with one hand. “Why are you here so early?”

Louis shrugs with avoidant eyes, dropping his arms from Harry’s shoulders and stepping backwards. “Couldn’t sleep. Lost my Ouija board, anyway. Afraid you’re stuck with another astronomy lesson.”

Harry groans jokingly; but when he sees how genuinely hurt Louis looks, he takes it back.

“I’m kidding! I loved that, even though none of the shapes really work with what they’re supposed to be.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest and glares at him. “It’s not the constellations’ fault you’re horrible at seeing what’s right in front of you.”

Hm.

It feels like Louis _might_ be talking in code, but it’s too early for Harry to attempt translating.

 _Louis_ is the only thing standing in front of him.

He _knows_ what’s right in front of him.

He knows Louis is one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen and _probably_ has a golden heart and deserves to have grapes fed to him while being fanned by shirtless men.

He knows this.

But before Harry can make sense of what he means, he realises Louis’ waiting for a response, and the silence is two milliseconds from turning awkward. So he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Not my fault I can’t pay attention when I have a teacher as fit as you.”

***

“I can’t believe you forgot the ice cream,” Harry groans for the third time.

He’s not actually upset. The night is unnaturally chilly for the beginning of August, so he’d probably freeze his fingers off if he did.

He still threw one of the many browned, rogue tennis balls from the roof in joking rage when Louis told him.

Now that he’s fully awake, he’s still a bit high off of his unplanned coming out. He feels like he’s vibrating under his skin with the amount of pure, untamed energy flowing through him.

Maybe the ice cream would have been a bad idea, anyway. He’d probably jump off the roof to attempt flying or something equally reckless.

Louis shifts beside him, pulling the blanket so it’s only half over his body. Harry snuggles in closer instinctively, his knee jabbing into Louis’ thigh.

“Ow. This is more painful than sober karaoke. _Get that knee back where it came from or so help me.”_

“So help me, so help me, and _cut—“_ Harry finishes, giggling with Louis over their synchrony as he pulls the blanket all the way over, uncovering him. Harry continues to snicker as he childishly tries to make a burrito of himself.

“Harry!” Louis complains, trying to tug it back to him but failing.

He gives up once it’s clear Harry’s not willing to budge and sags back against the roof tiles.

“ _Well,_ Harry _._ I just realised I have a tube of Polos in my pocket. But since you’re being difficult, I’m not sharing with you.”

Harry loosens his fingers from the blanket edges. “No, Louis, I love those,” he complains quickly, pouting.

Louis glares at Harry scornfully while he pulls it from his pocket. “Well, you should have thought about that before you stole the blanket.”

He pulls one from the tube slowly, smirking at the way Harry is watching his every move.

“Please?” Harry asks, eyes on Louis’ lips.

“Nope,” Louis laughs, popping it into his mouth. He moans ridiculously loud and closes his eyes in mock ecstasy, but it still _affects_ Harry. Louis’ moans are beautiful.

Harry’s breath hitches, and he secretly palms himself below the blanket while he waits deceivingly patiently for Louis to continue.

It doesn’t take long. Louis stuffs the roll into his pocket to be stubborn, but Harry’s lack of reaction spurs him on. “What? Are we playing the silent game, now, or something?”

Harry shrugs casually, looking up at the stars, instead. He’s taking puerile pleasure in the fact that Louis wants a response, and he’s refusing him.

He stays silent for a few more moments before he leans over and surprisingly pins Louis’ shoulders to the roof, hovering over him.

“I can’t believe you, Louis. I thought we were _friends.”_

Louis’ eyes are wide, but he doesn’t give in. “No. Friends don’t let their friends freeze to death in the middle of summer. That’s just cruel.” He shifts under Harry, bringing his hands to his shoulders like he’s planning to push him away. But he leaves them there, spreading his legs and then squeezing to trap Harry between them.

And now Harry is the confined one, even though he’s on top. Louis might be a wizard.

Harry cranes his neck and looks up to the sky as he imagines the best way to roll out of Louis’ hold. He can just barely make out the three little stars that make out Orion’s belt; he’s about to point them out to Louis when the breath is squeezed from his lungs.

“I don’t actually mind sharing this one,” Louis hints quietly.

And suddenly it feels as though the night is frozen in a different way.

Harry swallows, unsure whether he means what he _thinks_ he means.

“What do you _mean?”_ he voices his thoughts aloud, planting both palms firmly beside Louis’ head, afraid he’ll collapse otherwise.

Louis slowly opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, the Polo glistening like a ridiculously oversized tongue ring as he tries to sing. “If you wannit come n et it.”

“I don’t—I don’t think those are the actual _lyrics_ ,” Harry drivels, his brain still not processing.

Louis retracts his tongue, an impatient look crossing his features. “Listen to me, Harry; I _know_ you weren’t really in the middle of baking macaroons that day. You watch me go to sleep every night through your window after you ask me if I’m okay, and I don’t know _why_ but I really, _really_ like that.”

He pauses, closing his eyes as an unguarded look crosses his features, and he begins to talk so quickly it’s hard to understand. “It makes me feel safe and weirdly taken care of when things kind of suck and I’ve just given you free reign to kiss me, so I’ll probably fling myself off this roof or something if you—“

Harry swoops in to kiss him, cutting him off mid-sentence. He kisses with more confidence than he has any right to, considering his only real experience consists of Jonny’s cousin giving him a drunken blowjob in a closet.

But he’s just so _happy_ he forgets about nerves _._ He feels incredibly lucky, like he’s taken a dose of Felix Felicis, and in the past few hours the world has lined his life up perfectly in order for him to reach this moment in time.

He can feel Louis’ eyelashes brush against his cheekbones as he opens his eyes wide in surprise at being cut off so quickly, but he moulds his lips to Harry’s almost instantly.

And it’s _playful._ He opens up for Harry quickly, teasing him with his sugar-coated tongue but turning his face whenever Harry tries to do the same and get to the Polo. Louis shoves at his shoulders halfheartedly, like he wants him to get off of him or roll over, but he giggles while he does it, which makes Harry laugh, too.

Their teeth clack when he leans in to kiss him again, but it feels like it’s okay; he doesn’t feel the need to apologise every five seconds like he remembers he did with Jonny’s cousin. Kissing Louis feels as simple and normal as waking up in the morning, almost to be expected.

He feels like an idiot for not hurling himself across the gap between their windows and kissing him that first night.

He leans down onto his elbow, holding Louis’ jaw in place with his other hand while he opens Louis’ mouth with his tongue. He tastes like mint, the flavour concentrated on the centre of his tongue, and Harry moans at the taste.

Fuck. Harry never wants to stop kissing him.

He switches it up and kisses Louis with closed lips as a distraction, to make him forget about the Polo. He trails his hand from Louis’ jaw to his collarbones, his fingertips gentle and light against his tanned skin.

In response, Louis releases Harry’s shoulders and brings his hands to his cheeks, his pinky nails digging into the skin beneath Harry’s ears and one thumb stroking his cheekbone.

Harry pulls away with a gasp when Louis teasingly pinches his cheek between his thumb and forefinger. He stares down at him with his mouth half open, and they both let out a breathless giggle before Harry dives back in again.

Louis squeaks when Harry finally finds the Polo. It’s hidden underneath his tongue, towards the very back of his throat. But when Harry nudges it with the tip of his tongue, he dislodges it.

Louis sits up quickly, throwing Harry to the side in the process. Harry rubs at his elbow with a hiss before he hears the unmistakable sound of choking, followed by a light ping.

And then it’s quiet.

“Did that just—are you okay?” Harry asks as Louis sprawls back out on the blanket.

“I’m— fine,” Louis pants out awkwardly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Guess if I can’t have it, no one can.”

Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

False alarm.  
  
So Harry sits up and pins him down again, twining their fingers together as he raises both of Louis’ hands above his head.

“Think that was your punishment for being greedy, actually.”

Louis blinks up at Harry from where he’s hovering over him. Their lips are only a breath away from each other, and Harry thinks maybe it should feel weird to be staring into each others’ eyes from so close, but all he can think is how he wants to be even closer. How he wants to kiss him again.

How he might possibly never want to kiss anyone else ever again.

Maybe he’s being dramatic and idealistic, but—

“You know, in ancient Rome they poured molten gold into someone’s mouth for being greedy,” Louis tells him, his voice still a bit rough from choking.

Harry gasps in surprise. “Are you calling me golden, Louis? Was that a sneaky way of asking to suck my dick?”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “ _No!_ That’s disgusting, Harry. What kind of boy do you think I am?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders, tightening his grip on Louis’ fingers as he presses their bodies closer together. “Think you’re the type of guy someone would be lucky to meet.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but his lip quivers like he doesn’t know what to say.

He stares up at Harry with careful eyes, and he can see the shadow of the sad boy in the window.

It’s sudden, completely out of the blue, and even plainer up close, written in the dull gleam of his usual bright, teasing eyes and the tense line of his shoulders.

And then the word vomit crawls up his throat. “Louis, why are you so sad at night?”

But Louis turns his head to the side like he’s searching for an escape route, and Harry feels like he’s overstepped a boundary. He looks like he’s not ready to talk with Harry like that. Like he’s not _comfortable_ enough with him.

Harry panics, dejected and guilt-ridden and afraid Louis will decide their days of kissing are over.

So, logically, Harry leans down and kisses him as an apologetic distraction, with meaning this time. He lines their bodies up completely, their legs entwined, their chests rising in sequence, their mouths and hands still connected. It’s slower, with more promise, and soon enough Harry’s words feel forgotten.

The moment feels so beautiful that Harry feels like it’s wrong that he’s getting hard, but—

“Harry—“ Louis groans into his mouth, wrapping his legs tighter around Harry’s and thrusting up against him.

So Harry goes with it, matching their movements up so it’s almost like they’re horizontally dancing. He can feel Louis’ dick hard against his, better than anything he’s ever imagined, and then his body takes over completely. What they’re doing feels almost animalistic in a way, filthy and forbidden because they’re on the school roof in the middle of the night.

But it feels too good to stop.

But once Louis’ shirt is off and Harry’s halfway through unzipping his jeans, a police car pulls up to the side of the school.

“Louis…” Harry whispers breathlessly, sitting up between Louis’ legs.

“Wait—why are you—“ he begins to ask, tugging his zipper the rest of the way before he follows Harry’s line of vision and sees the car.

“Oh shit. How did he…?”

Louis pauses as he considers the situation, his eyes narrowed. “Where’d you throw that tennis ball?”

Harry shrugs, pointing to the general centre of the school.

“Fuck.” Louis grabs his shirt and throws it on inside out as he stands. “We need to get out of here.”

Harry sadly does his zipper up again, hissing against the painful constraint.

They climb down stealthily without even grabbing the blankets and crouch down to hide between the rusted water fountain and the grimy wall.

“I thought you said you do this all the time,” Harry whispers to Louis, eyes growing wide when he sees the beam of a flashlight across the field slowly creeping to where they’re hiding.

“I do. But I’m not a twat who throws tennis balls without knowing where they’re going.”

Harry looks down guiltily.

“I’m not _blaming_ you,” Louis whispers, exasperated. “I don’t even know if that’s how he found us. I’m pretty sure Zayn was lying about motion detectors to get me to stop coming here at night. I’m just trying to think of the best way to get out without getting caught.”

“Why don’t we just… Look, he left the gate open.”

He watches Louis as the truth sets in. “Oh.”

So they run. They run as fast as they can until they’re within earshot of the police officer. They dodge him by traveling slightly out of their way and tiptoeing as quietly as possible.

But Harry steps in a tiny ditch and curses when he almost loses his balance.

And the police officer turns his flashlight to Harry, which prompts him to look down at the bright, fuzzy spot of light on his chest like a gunshot wound.

And Louis is already ten steps ahead of him, running to the open gate like he’s on the last leg of a race.

Harry follows, and it’s obvious the police officer isn’t in the best of shape because they lose him at the first corner.

They run the rest of the way, anyway. Louis hops on his back halfway through, and they tumble to the ground and kiss for a few minutes before remembering they’re possibly still in the middle of a police chase.

When they make it home, Harry unlocks his front door as quietly as possible, and they ascend the stairs like they’re afraid to be caught sneaking out.

Which, they sort of are. But not exactly. They’re sneaking back _in_. Similar concept.

Harry closes the door behind them silently, but then he and Louis dissolve into hushed giggles.

“Fuck. I guess that means we can’t go back there, then,” Harry whispers once their laughs subside.

Louis scoffs. “No. That means we _have_ to go back.”

He’s leaning against the wall by the window, like he’s reluctant to leave. Louis’ eyes make their way to the floor and his lip is between his teeth, and Harry considers him openly through the comfortable silence.

“What do we do now?” Harry eventually asks, a little bit sleepy now that the adrenaline is gone.

Louis looks to the side, his eyes raking over the curtains Harry _still_ hasn’t bothered to put up.

“Why are these still here?” he asks coyly.

_Obviously because it would damper his ability to watch Louis at all hours of the day._

“I guess I like letting the light in,” Harry lies, watching as Louis’ pretends not to smile.

“Okay... I guess I’ll just—” Louis says, turning reluctantly. He pauses with his palm flat against the wall, not subtle at all.

Harry knows he’s being cruel, but he wants to make Louis sweat for a bit. He gives up when Louis lifts his foot to get through the window, though.

“Louis. Do you want me to ask you to stay or kiss you or something?”

Louis shrugs, his palm still flat against the wall. “Not with _that_ tone of voice.”

Harry rolls his eyes, crossing the room in a few quick steps until he’s pressed up behind him, his arms tight around his waist. “Will you stay, or do you want me to kiss you?”

“Both,” Louis giggles.

So they cuddle together under Harry’s blanket with their sweatshirts on. They’ll probably wake up sweaty, and it’s not comfortable in the slightest because there’s too much fabric and the bed is too small and Harry’s arm is trapped under Louis’ shoulder blade. But he doesn’t want to move a muscle.

This has been the best day he’s had since the move, and Louis is smiling beside him, happy while the sun is still down.

“Night, Harry,” Louis whispers, turning his head for a kiss and ending the night on a perfect note.

***

“I fucking _love_ Michael Buble. I tweet him so much it’s embarrassing,” Niall tells the group, his arms spread wide along the top of the hot tub.

Liam’s off-again with his girlfriend, Perrie is out of town, and Barbara is having a girl’s night, so it’s just the five of them.

It’s an interesting switch since before Harry and Louis were the ones without someone glued to their side. But tonight it’s the opposite. Harry’s arm is around Louis’ shoulder, and Louis is absentmindedly playing with his fingers while Zayn, Liam, and Niall are the ones all alone.

Harry would probably feel awkward about it if he wasn’t distracted by Louis’ foot casually rubbing up and down his calf.

“Michael Buble is crap,” Zayn tells Niall, earning him a violent splash in the face.

“He changed the lyrics for Santa Baby to Santa Buddy. That’s even more annoying than changing the pronouns to make a song more _no homo_. I’m with Zayn,” Louis sticks his tongue out.

“You’re all wrong. Buble is _perfect_. I sing him in karaoke every year at your party, and everyone fucking loves it, and you’re just jealous,” Niall counters. “They scream for me like I’m famous or something.”

“Hey, Louis, what did Santa say to Buble?” Harry says lowly as Liam cuts in.

“God, Harry. Do I really want to know the answer?” Louis asks as he tugs lightly on Harry’s pointer finger.

“He said no _ho-ho_ -homo.”

Louis presses his lips together like he doesn’t want to laugh, but it spills out anyway. He turns his face into Harry’s neck and giggles. “You’re the worst.”

“I was thinking about saying Santa isn’t allowed down his chimney—“

Louis’ lips muffle the rest.

“You’re so weird. Why do I like you so much?” he asks once he’s kissed the grin from Harry’s face. He can see that Zayn is staring, but he doesn’t really mind because Louis said he _likes him,_ so nothing really matters but that, as far as he’s concerned.

Harry shrugs, his body warm and tingly, not just from the steaming water. “Guess you can’t resist my—“

“Hey, Harry, I’m dehydrated. Can I have a water bottle?” Zayn asks suddenly.

Harry’s eyes widen in concern. It’s _too_ sudden. This feels like a trap. But—

“Uh. Yeah, of course. Anyone else?” Harry asks the group.

He’s met with two yeses and a no.

“I’ll probably just end up drinking yours,” Louis reasons with a shrug.

Harry’s not surprised Zayn stands and climbs out of the tub with him.

“I could have got them myself,” Harry tells him as they drip onto the grass. “I have pretty big hands.”

Zayn smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just wanted to talk a little.”

Harry’s heart rate doubles as he slides the glass door open. Fuck. “What did you want to talk about?”

Zayn stays quiet and leans against the counter as Harry opens the fridge. He feels watched and unfairly judged with Zayn’s eyes glued to him.

He curses when he realises there’s only three cold bottles. He’ll have to grab one from the pantry.

Zayn sighs. “It’s just really weird for me to think that I’m not really the only person Louis has to tell things to, anymore.” His voice is even and low, but it sends bursts of panic through Harry’s nervous system.

He’s no match for Zayn. If he’s jealous and wants Louis to himself, Harry has no chance. “I—“

“It’s not _bad,_ Harry. I like you. And I like the two of you together. It’s just, like, it’s been me and him for so long; it’s hard for me to accept that there’s someone else in the picture.”

Okay. This is okay. This is platonic jealousy, if there’s such a thing.

“Louis told me what happened last night,” Zayn adds. Harry turns and opens the pantry door once he sets the three bottles on the counter, waiting for Zayn to elaborate with his breath held.

“I probably know him better than _anyone,”_ he continues, and Harry can hear the hint of pride in his voice. “And one of the things about Louis is that he hates to complain. It makes him feel, like, sad or cliché or something, so he pretends he’s allergic to emotions and he’s good, even if something _is_ bothering him.”

 _This_ Harry knows.

“But I can tell how much he likes you, and how much he _wants_ to talk to you. So you really can’t just ask him something like _that_ and then kiss him _right after_. He’s too easily distracted. Kind of like a cat with a laser.”

Harry blushes, setting the bottle on the counter to join the others before leaning against the fridge, facing Zayn head on.

“Just wait. He’ll probably make a joke about things to keep it light because he likes to test that you’re paying attention. But if you push and ask a second time, he’ll be real with you. He _wants_ you to.”

“Did he tell you that?” Harry asks suspiciously.

“Of course not. But I speak Louis; it was implied.”

Harry nods, considering. “I like him a lot, too, for the record.”

“I know,” Zayn says, grabbing two of the bottles and turning to the door. “You looked like a kid on Christmas just now when he kissed you.”

He opens it and lets Harry through first. “As you _should_. Louis’ a catch.”

Halfway across the grass, Zayn leans in to whisper, “Give Niall the lukewarm bottle. My eye still stings.”

***

Harry has half a mind to ask Louis to stay when they all towel off, but he promised Gemma he’d Skype her. Louis shrugs it off, saying he has things to do as well, but it looks like there’s an evil plan simmering in his mind.

His computer is slow to power up, so he texts Gemma while he waits.

_ready for my face??_

He bends over the side of his bed and picks up his pen and notebook while he waits, so he can talk to Louis once he comes to his room.

_I suppose. But fair warning… I’m wearing a facemask._

Harry giggles when they finally connect on Skype. Green goop is covering her face.

“Ew. You look like a monster. How does that work?”

Gemma fixes her headband with a neutral expression. “It’s for exfoliation and tightening my pores, little brother. You said you have gossip, and I need to wash this off in ten minutes, so spill.”

“Ah,” Harry stalls, switching his position so he’s lying on his stomach. “Well, I _might_ have kissed Louis.”

“He’s the boy next door, right? Fitter than Gosling?”

Harry nods enthusiastically, shaking the whole bed with him.

“Well, I guess I should congratulate you or something. Personally, I’m going through a drought so I’m actually more _jealous_ than—“

“Ew! Gemma, I don’t want to hear about you going through a drought,” Harry grimaces.

“So I’m being forced to listen to you, but I’m not allowed to say anything? Cool.”

Harry pouts as their connection falters, pausing Gemma’s face mid-word. “No, I guess you’re allowed to. I’m sorry—“

“I’m kidding, Harry. This is big! I want to hear everything.”

“Okay, well—“ he pauses as the light to Louis’ room switches on. He stares openly and waves when Louis glances up at him from beside his dresser, still in his swim shorts and a white t-shirt.

“Sorry, I can see him from here. Oh—“ he pauses, turning the computer so the camera is facing the window. “Can you see him?”

He hopes it isn’t creepy that he’s virtually introducing Louis without asking, but he can see Louis staring back at the computer, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

And then he lifts his shirt and flashes them, and Harry can’t help but laugh.

He turns the computer again when Louis walks out of view, into his bathroom.

“He seems perfect for you,” Gemma laughs, her mask crinkling at the creases along her face. “He can make you less _boring_.”

“Hey…” Harry frowns. “I’m not _boring._ I just know, like, two people in this whole town. It’s not my fault I’ve watched four seasons of one show in half a summer.”

Gemma smiles as stiffly as possible. “I know. I’m teasing. Anyway… have you told mum?” Her tone is questioning at the end, faux-casual to mask her worry.

But Harry can feel his face light up. “Yeah, _I did._ It just kind of slipped out, but she was _so cool_ about it. She, like, gave me flirting advice and everything. It was great.”

Gemma looks as pleased as possible for someone who looks a bit like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“That’s amazing, Harry. I kind of want to say _I told you so,_ but I guess it would be better to just say I’m proud of you.”

Harry’s about to respond, but he glances up and can see Louis crossing his room with dripping hair, in only a long t-shirt.

“I—“

Harry can’t finish his sentence. Louis’ thighs look so strong and soft.

“What’s going on? You look like you saw a ghost or something,” Gemma says.

But Harry can’t explain. He can’t tear his eyes from Louis. He’s paused at the foot of his bed, standing and facing the window, and he’s teasing the bottom of the t-shirt higher up on his thigh.

And he’s _staring right at Harry_ with a dirty smile while he’s doing it.

“Harry?” Gemma asks, but Louis turns to the side and teases it even higher, giving Harry a brief view of the swell of his arse.

“Fuck.” Harry palms himself through his shorts, only half-aware that he’s still on Skype with his _sister_.

“Harry!” Gemma shouts to get his attention, but Louis’ walking closer to the window. He bends down to retrieve something from inside his desk, and when he straightens up he holds it up to the window to show Harry.

It’s lube. Louis has a bottle of _lube_ in his hands.

It’s becoming increasingly apparent he needs to lose Gemma as soon as possible.

“Gems, I just realised I forgot to—I didn’t—I was cooking and I—I, _fuck_ , I have to go.”

“Ugh. I don’t even want to know, honestly. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

Harry hangs up without even saying goodbye. He’s possibly a horrible brother, but now Louis’ sprawled out on top of his bed, running his fingers over his chest with one hand and uncapping the lube with the other, and nothing has ever felt as imperative as this moment.

Louis looks to his ceiling and grins like he’s satisfied when Harry tosses his computer to the side. He frantically rips the cap off of the pen and scribbles out _Get Naked,_  but Louis is too distracted and Harry is much too impatient. So he lies back, mirroring Louis’ pose.

Louis turns to the side and smirks like Harry _finally_ did what he wanted the whole time, and Harry desperately needs Louis to do _something_.

He throws his pen and notebook off the bed. It feels like he’s Skyping _Louis_ now, in a way. But in high quality. And without the lag.

Fuck, he can see how hard Louis is because he’s straining against the bottom of his t-shirt, his cock begging for release.

Harry presses the heel of his hand to his dick, staring at the hem of his t-shirt and trying to get it to move using telekinesis.

When that fails, he trails his eyes up Louis’ body, almost jumping out of his skin when he sees Louis is already watching him. When their eyes meet, Louis raises an eyebrow and pulls at the bottom of the t-shirt the tiniest bit.

Harry is going to explode. If things end here, Harry will have the most serious case of blue balls the world has ever seen. The colour will spread until he’s actually a real life Smurf.

But Louis takes pity on him because he pulls the t-shirt up to his ribs in a quick, deliberate movement, and—

 _That’s his cock._ Harry’s eyes almost bug out of his head. He can see it— hard and pink and thick and _long,_ curving up against his stomach. Harry’s abs clench uncontrollably, and he pulls his shorts down to get a hand around his dick.

Louis grins at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing and brings his lubed up fingers to his cock.

Harry knows he’ll only last two minutes at the most, so it’s okay that he’s only willing to lick his hand to make the slide easier.

He’d _chafe_ for Louis. He’s _that_ gone for him.

He watches as Louis spreads his legs and strokes himself slowly, leisurely, almost like he thinks Harry can’t see how hard he is for him or how his toes are curling into the mattress. Harry feels like he’s watching Louis performing for a camera with how showy and deliberate about it he’s being, but he knows it’s all for him.

And when Louis sits up on knees, Harry’s cock makes a violent jump.  He watches unblinkingly as Louis thoroughly lubes up three more fingers and moves onto all fours. Louis turns his head, and Harry can see every single emotion on his face as he sinks the first finger in.

He can’t decide whether he wants to watch his face or his fingers more.

Harry bucks up into his fist uncontrollably. Louis’ biting his lip but they’re making _direct eye contact,_ and they’re not even touching but Harry’s sure this is already infinitely more intimate than his closet blowjob. He wants to touch Louis so much his fingers are tingling with desire, but this is also hotter than anything he’s ever experienced.

So it’s fine. It’s already perfect.

Louis’ cock is hanging hard and heavy and neglected between his legs, so Harry imagines how it would feel in his mouth, against his tongue. He watches greedily as Louis’ eyes flutter and shut halfway as he slips in another finger, his fingers on the bed gripping the sheets as he pushes past the knuckle. His mouth drops open, and Harry can’t _hear_ but he can imagine the sounds he’s making and—and he’s going to come. He’s going to come _now_.

But he feels like he should at least tell Louis that, somehow. He circles his fingers around the base of his dick and pounds the other on the bed, like that will somehow alert Louis, even though it’s mostly to let out some of his pent-up energy.

It feels like eternities before Louis opens his eyes again. Eternities of Louis dropping onto his chest and shoulder and neck so he can get his other hand around his cock. Eternities of Louis fingering himself open with an awkwardly angled wrist and adding another finger. Eternities of Harry squeezing his dick so hard he’s afraid it will fall off.

Eternities.

When Louis finally opens his eyes, Harry releases his tight grip and pumps his hand as quickly as possible, pointing to his stomach with his other hand.

But Louis sits up and holds his palm out in an obvious _not yet_ gesture, and then he stands up.

Harry frowns sadly because he can’t see his cock, anymore.

But _then_ Louis opens his window and climbs out, and Harry realises what’s happening almost too late.

He springs up, forgetting about the shorts pulled to his knees, and narrowly avoids an embarrassing and terribly timed face plant. He hops on one foot as he pulls his shorts off completely and then opens the window.

Louis flings himself at Harry, who hardly manages to steady him before he’s being pushed backwards.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” Harry mumbles against his mouth as Louis grips his biceps with surprising strength.

“Can’t believe I’ve waited this long to get your cock in my mouth,” Louis counters, shoving Harry to the bed and sitting on his knees at the foot of it with an almost manic look in his eyes.

But Harry can see how the bottom of Louis shirt is stained wet with precome, and how there’s sweat accumulated along Louis’ hairline and his still-damp hair is stringy with it, and he can see the muscles in his _thighs_ straining as he moves and leans forward onto his elbows with his arse in the air, and he’s not sure he’ll last that long.

“Louis— _wait_ ,” he gasps out, but then Louis digs his thumb into the crease between Harry’s thigh and groin and takes the base of Harry’s dick into his hand to angle him as he licks his lips like he’s ready for it, and Harry feels the dam break.

He comes _all over_ Louis’ face.

And it’s so, so _humiliating_ because Louis hasn’t even properly touched him, really. But he comes _hard,_ painting his still-there shirt white with what doesn’t make it to Louis’ face.

Louis closes his eyes but leaves his mouth half-open in shock as it happens, and Harry feels really horrible about it, but it’s probably the _hottest_ thing he’s ever seen happen in his entire life. Another ribbon of come coats Louis’ lips.

Harry shakes through it with an embarrassed groan, flushed red from the neck down.

When he can breathe again, he sits up and brings his fingers to a frozen Louis’ splattered cheek apologetically but squeezes his eyes shut in mortification.

Maybe _this_ is more awkward than the Vibrator Incident.

“I’m… _so_ sorry. I tried—I tried to warn you. I promise,” Harry mumbles out while he wipes the come from his cheek.

But then Louis turns his head and takes Harry’s finger into his mouth, and he’s _sucking the come from his finger,_ and he’s probably going to get hard again.

“It’s okay. Was hot,” Louis shrugs, his words muffled from the finger still in his mouth.

So Harry wipes the rest from his face with wide, incredulous eyes and lets Louis lick his finger clean before he flips them over.

Louis lets out a surprised gasp when his back is to the sheets. The action moves his shirt up to his stomach, and his cock is hard and flushed. Harry wants it in him as soon as possible.

He grabs Louis’ hips and lays on his stomach and just stares for a moment.

He’s _definitely_ about to suck Louis’ dick. This moment should be documented. He should take a mental snapshot of it. This is more significant than when he grew his first chest hair.

But Louis whines and threads his fingers through Harry’s hair tightly, so he gets to work.

Louis tastes clean, vaguely like soap, and Harry wants to make him a sweaty mess. He only goes down halfway, his lips a tight seal and his tongue flat and soft against Louis’ cock.

He grips what his mouth can’t reach in one hand and begins to bob inexpertly.

He didn’t realise blowjobs were so _messy_ and _loud._ There’s saliva dribbling down his chin, and he can hear the weird, sucking noise every time he pulls off of Louis’ dick, but beyond that he can hear Louis moaning and the hitch of his breathing. Harry would be smiling around Louis’ cock if he could because _he’s_ the one making Louis sound like that. _He’s_ making Louis feel good.

He puts his _all_ into it. He takes Louis as deep as he can, ignoring the dull throb beginning to build in his throat as he tries to push past his gag reflex.

He trails his fingers from Louis’ hip _down_ , silently requesting permission to touch him. Louis bends his knee in answer, making the angle easier for Harry.

He pushes one finger past his lubed rim, almost choking on Louis’ dick at the tightness surrounding it.

He’s _inside_ him. Harry crooks his finger to the left like he knows he likes it personally when he does it to himself, but he finds it difficult to focus on his mouth and his fingers at the same time. He alternates between sucking Louis down and trying to aim his fingertip correctly, his breathing heavy from his nose.

After taking Louis particularly deep, he feels him tighten his fingers in his hair. “Fuck. I’m close.”

Harry pulls off with his mouth and moves his hand almost as quick as he can while he slips a second finger into him, multitasking to the best of his ability.

“Fuck,” Louis’ back arches off the bed, and Harry can see his muscles contract. “Don’t stop.”

Harry would _never._ He speeds up, instead, raking his eyes from Louis’ cock to his face, where he’s licking his lips and his eyes are shut tightly and the vein in his neck is protruding. He looks so _pretty_ ; Harry wants to rub their noses together and kiss his lips and tickle him until he can’t breathe, which is an odd thought to have when Louis is two seconds from coming all over his fist.

It all comes to a sudden stop when they hear the knock to the door. “Harry? Are you okay? I have to talk to you.”

Harry almost falls off the bed. “Fuck,” he whispers, his own panicked eyes meeting Louis’. “Um. Mum, hold on! One second.”

He leaps from the bed and grabs his shorts from the floor, whisper-yelling to Louis. “She can’t catch you in here!”

Louis sits up and looks to the floor in a panic. “But I don’t have any clothes!”

“Are you alone?” she demands.

“Fuck! You need to go—“

“Like this? You’re really leaving me like _this_?” Louis whispers, gesturing to his still-prominent erection thinly shielded by his t-shirt. It’s standing straight up, almost red in color, like it’s _upset_ with Harry for denying it an orgasm.

“One moment!” Harry calls, then turns to Louis and grabs his hand as he pulls him up. “I _promise_ I’ll make it up to you later—just my mum’s caught me—I really don’t want—“

“Fine! You better,” Louis grunts, moving to the open window. Harry taps his foot to the floor edgily while Louis carefully makes the trek between houses, ungracefully leaping to the roof and climbing in through his open window.

In the back of his mind, it strikes Harry how odd and uncomfortable it must be for him to jump between their roofs practically naked in public, and he feels guilty for kicking him out, but—

“Harry? Can I come in, now?”

Harry waits to open the door until Louis shuts his light off. He glances down quickly to be sure his come stains aren’t visible and everything is where it’s supposed to be, takes a deep breath, and swings it open.

“Mum. _Sorry_. I was Skyping with Gemma and just needed to get everything put away.”

She steps into the room cautiously, her eyes narrowed like she doesn’t believe him as she he sits on the foot of the bed and pats the spot next to her. Harry feels impure for allowing her to sit almost exactly where he came all over Louis’ face only minutes ago.

“Since you’re starting school so soon, I wanted to ask you something kind of serious,” she tells him once they’re both sitting on the bed.

“ _What is it_?” Harry questions, bracing himself for a bomb as his heart stops. Perhaps they’re up and moving again, just when he’s made friends and given his first blowjob.

She takes in a deep breath. “I know we’ve forced you here against your will, and it’s _cruel_ of me to ask this.”

“I’m not understanding the question…” Harry trails off uncertainly, his heart rate still worryingly high.

“One of my friends from university is getting married, and she needs some last minute help and invited me to the reception, but I’ll be gone your first day of school.”

He waits for her to continue. The nervous look on her face is truly terrifying. The suspense might kill him.

“Would you be mad if we weren’t here for that? I’ve talked it over with Jay—I’m not sure you’ve met her, but Louis’ mum— and she said if you have _any_ trouble you can come next door.”

Harry shuts his eyes in disbelief.

“Is _that_ what you were worried about? Mum, I’m sixteen. I don’t need a _babysitter._ I’m not going to cry about not having someone home to ask me how my day at school was.”

She seems to deflate, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Only if you’re sure.”

Harry cups his face in his hands. “Of _course_ I’m sure.”

He’s more than sure. He’s actually _excited_. So much can happen in an empty house…

“Well. Thanks, Harry. Glad that’s settled, then. And I’m sure you can invite Louis over if you get too lonely.”

Harry gulps at that. She’s looking at him significantly.

_Very significantly._

Oh God. She knows. She knows _everything._ He literally can’t hide anything from her.

“Well. You look exhausted. I’ll let you get to sleep.”

She pauses before exiting, her hand to the doorknob. “Harry, for God’s sake—I _know_ you like spying on him, but put up your curtains!”

The second she closes the door behind her, Louis’ light flips on.

Louis collapses against the wall next to the light switch, his hand moving so quickly over his dick it’s a blur.

He locks eyes with Harry as he comes. Harry gulps and hopes he’s forgiven.

***

The thing is, Harry really, really, really wants to date Louis.

He wants the proper handholding and the dates and goodnight kisses and the meeting of the family and to save Louis’ number in his phone with hearts and emojis next to his name.

He wants everything, but he figures the only way to _get_ that is to actually go on a proper first date. And he’s not sure group hot tubbing and trips to the school roof in the middle of the night truly count.

***

“Hey. What’re you doing today?” Harry asks Louis over the phone. It’s around lunchtime, but Harry’s in the mood for ice cream. Or a milkshake. Or sharing a milkshake with Louis because he’s seen that on television before. It’s practically the epitome of a good first date.

Also, he wants to make up for the night before… not his proudest moment. Though, to be fair, he’s also kind of a sixteen-year-old virgin. He’s not sure what else Louis would expect.

“I’m actually babysitting my sisters for the day,” Louis sighs into the phone regretfully. Harry can hear the faint murmur of high-pitched voices in the background, but it doesn’t deter him.

“That’s perfect. Let’s a _ll_ go for ice cream. My treat.”

Louis only hesitates for a moment before agreeing; it sounds like he’s smiling.

After the introductions and an onslaught of questions directed Harry’s way, they begin the walk to Niall’s ice cream shop.

It’s muggy and almost too hot. Harry’s sure he’s going to get sunburned, but he’s not sure Louis’ car would even hold all of them, and this trip feels frighteningly domestic in the best way. He can almost imagine a _future_ of walking to get ice cream with Louis with four little girls in tow.

But with their own children.

 _Fuck_. He wants Louis’ children. Surely it’s much too early in their relationship for this. He’s sixteen.

Daisy and Phoebe, the twins from the bake sale, take a liking to him quickly. He holds both of their hands as they cross the street, reminding them to look both ways. He pretends he’s listening to Daisy’s story about her friend Tia stealing her favourite doll, but he’s really watching Louis out of his peripheral.

He’s _so in_. It isn’t even a question, anymore. Louis is looking at him like he’s solved the riddles of the universe. Harry feels as warm on the inside as he does on the outside.

And he continues his winning streak by buying an ice cream cone for each of Louis’ little sisters.

“What do you want, Louis?” Harry asks him in an undertone. He watches as Louis pretends Niall teasing Phoebe and holding the cone just out of her reach doesn’t endear him.

Louis grips his elbow softly. “I don’t need anything, Harry. This is _more_ than enough. Thank you.”

Which is actually _perfect._ Harry never thought an ideal date would include Louis’ four little sisters, but he supposes he’s never really had any experience with dates to make that assumption, anyway.

“Niall—can I have a milkshake? With two straws?”

“Which flavour?” Niall asks with a knowing eyebrow raised and a smug grin.

“Um…” Harry stalls, trying to remember Louis’ favourite flavour. “Mint chocolate chip?”

Louis’ blinding smile tells him he remembers correctly.

“I’ll pay—go get a table.”

Harry can hear a hushed argument between Louis and Lottie as he slides his card and ignores Niall’s pointed, inquisitive gaze.

“No, _I’m_ sitting next to Harry—“

“Louis, he’s not _that_ much older than me—“

“He’s _gay._ And he wouldn’t be into you, anyway—“

“You’re so _rude_ —“

In the end, he winds up sandwiched between both of them. It’s a bit unnerving that he can feel both Louis and Lottie’s legs rubbing up against his own, so he very deliberately wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulder to send out a clear message.

She gets the hint. And Harry can see Louis subtly stick his tongue out at her from the corner of his eye.

Sibling love.

Niall pulls up an extra chair and joins the group soon after. Lottie moves her affections to him, instead, commending him for mastering the difficult art of scooping ice cream so perfectly.

But Harry is distracted by Louis’ hand gripping his thigh.

“I’m absolutely smitten. If that wasn’t completely obvious,” Louis breathes out as he leans forward to take a sip of their shared milkshake.

“It’s _very_ obvious. But thanks for the reassurance,” Harry jokes.

Louis shoves weakly at his shoulder but rests his head there, after, suddenly cuddly like a kitten. “I think they like you better than they like _me_.”

“Nah,” Harry disagrees easily, rubbing his fingers along Louis’ bicep in light patterns as he listens in on Niall’s spiel about the difference between Cold Stone and _real_ ice cream establishments.

But at the sound of the bell, Niall springs into action, and the girls all snap their eyes back to Harry.

“Do you like my brother?” Phoebe asks bluntly. Louis tightens his hold on Harry’s thigh, like a warning.

“I like him, but only a little bit,” he tells her in a whisper.

“That’s gross!” Felicity interjects.

She’s been quiet the whole time. He blamed it on _shyness_ originally, but Harry can feel his jaw tighten, and he bites his tongue to hold back a response.

“I don’t know why _anyone_ would like Louis. He’s annoying. And whenever he plays football, he comes back smelling like a rubbish bin.”

“ _Excuse you_ ,” Louis protests, rubbing calming circles into Harry’s thigh like he senses Harry’s unnecessary tenseness. (Of _course_ Louis’ sister isn’t homophobic.)

“ _You’re_ the smelly one, Fizzy!”

And from there, Harry catches onto a theme. Even though his sisters pretend everything Louis says or does is a burden, it’s obvious they love him a lot. And that kind of makes Harry like him even more, which he didn’t even think was possible.

Louis makes him realise a lot of things he didn’t think were possible.

When they all finish their ice cream, Louis reminds everyone to clean up so Niall doesn’t have to clean up for them. Niall waves them away with a smile and demands to hang out at Harry’s soon.

Once they’re on the sidewalk, Daisy gets between Harry and Louis’ joined hands and insists on the two of them swinging her between them. They agree and swing her higher than Harry thinks is _probably_ safe, but once isn’t enough. She and Phoebe argue over whose turn it is the entire way back.

But Harry doesn’t mind. They’re cute, and their laughs are high and joyful. Perhaps they’re the loveliest little girls Harry has ever met. They spread more happiness through the air than tiny puppies.

When they reach the tree separating their gardens, Louis gives Lottie his keys and tells them he’ll meet them inside.

Louis waits to touch him until all of his sisters are badly hidden behind the curtains, pretending not to be watching the two of them.

“I’m almost _positive_ you planned this to make up for coming all over my face and kicking me out before I finished last night,” he tells him as he slips his hands into Harry’s back pockets.

Harry laughs self-consciously and looks down as he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck. “I promise that was only _half_ my intention. I kind of just wanted to spend some time with you,” he shrugs. “And, like, not at night. Just a nice day together. Hanging out. Doing average things.”

Louis smiles nearly shyly. “Well. We can definitely have a nice night together, _too_. If you’d be up for that.”

Ah. From the gleam in Louis’ eyes, he can tell _nice_ means orgasmic. Harry nods almost too quickly. “Yes. Yes, definitely.”

“Good.” Louis moves to his tiptoes and kisses him with soft lips. He leaves behind the taste of mint, chocolate, and anticipation. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

***

But when Harry sees Louis later that night, it’s nothing at all like he expects.

Louis doesn’t turn on his lights, but Harry can hear his door slam even with the two walls between them. Harry peers into the room from his bed but can’t see a thing.

He’s unexpectedly worried. He jumps up off the bed and crosses to his window, but Louis’ room is all blurred shapes and dark shadows. He can’t see a _thing,_ and that’s worrisome _._

He thinks quickly and sweeps his eyes from one corner of his room to the next, but the answer is sprawled on the floor right by his feet, hidden beneath a sweatshirt.

He holds the question mark up to the window. And, at first, there’s nothing. Harry can only hear the wind flowing through his open window and the faint buzz of the night. He sees nothing but walls and dirty smudges along the glass, but soon Louis slowly climbs through his window.

His shoulders are set in a line Harry doesn’t like one bit. His eyes are to the roof tiles, which Harry supposes is probably preferable while he jumps from house to house, but he doesn’t like that he can’t see his face.

Something is _wrong._ Something is very wrong.

“Louis—what’s going on?” he asks, grabbing Louis’ hands once he’s through the window and pulling him into his chest.

Louis squeezes tight and buries his face in Harry’s neck. But he shakes his head, like he isn’t in the mood to respond.

But now, thanks to Zayn, Harry _knows_ how to deal with this. He nods in reluctant acceptance and pulls Louis to the bed.

“Um. I’m watching That 70's Show. It’s always a laugh, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Louis wipes under his eye like he’s trying to be subtle, so Harry pretends he doesn’t see.

Louis trains his face into a halfway believable smile and lets out a short laugh. “What the _fuck_ is That 70's Show?”

Harry pulls him closer but presses play instead of straightaway demanding answers.

Harry lets Louis curl up against him, bracketed between his spread legs. He wraps his arms around his chest and rubs his thumbs over his shirt softly, but Louis doesn’t uncoil.

He feels small and wound tight, like a spring ready to explode. And that’s just unacceptable.

“Louis—is everything okay?” he tries again, dropping a quick kiss to his shoulder in encouragement.

Louis shrugs like it’s nothing, but Harry pauses the show, anyway.

And _that_ seems to be all the inspiration Louis needs—like he was waiting for him to ask one more time. He curls up sideways, his cheek to Harry’s chest, and rubs his nose along the fabric of his shirt like it’s calming. He waits a few moments before he begins.

“You know how I sometimes put up the frown? At night?”

Harry nods and tightens his arms around him.

“My room is right next to my parents’—was.”

“What do you— _was_?”

Louis sags against him. “Was. My dad walked out on us.”

His voice is frigid and final, unfamiliar. Harry freezes, unsure exactly what to say in this situation.

“Just a few hours ago, actually. Normally they wait to fight until my sisters are asleep, but not tonight.”

Louis seems calmer than Harry would expect, almost like he’s too tired to feel anything. “It’s why I always listen to music when I go to bed. But I always wanted to be able to hear what was going on—to keep an eye on things. I’m not sure whether it was out of me being _nosy_ or because I wanted to be there if it escalated.”

“I—I think that’s normal. You weren’t being, like, nosy—“

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He sniffles, defeated. “I don’t _know_ , Harry. I think this is for the better. It was always so scary for me to hear them fighting each night, but it’s still, like, _sad._ And the look in my mum’s eyes when he slammed the door shut. It was—I can’t get it out of my head.”

“ _Louis—“_

“Their anniversary was supposed to be tomorrow, too. She was supposed to have a really good day, and now it’s going to suck. And my sisters don’t really know what’s happening. I don’t know what to do to make it _better_ , Harry.”

But Harry has no idea what he could do, either. He’s probably as useless as the packets inside jerky labeled _do not eat._

“I don’t really know if there’s something you _need_ to do. Do you want me to, like—what do _you_ need? How can I help?”

Harry is lost.

Louis shrugs, but throws his legs over Harry’s. “This is enough, I think. For now. This is—yeah. I’ll just stay here for now.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, more than willing. He pulls Louis closer and bends the leg behind Louis’ back so it’s more comfortable. Louis looks _fragile,_ like he’s only minutes from breaking. Harry holds him like he’s made of crystal, with gentle fingers and occasional soft, forehead kisses.

Louis is shaking with silent sobs aimed to Harry’s t-shirt, like he doesn’t want Harry to know he’s crying. He can feel Louis’ heart pounding and lungs expanding unevenly against him, but the moment feels too delicate to say anything else. He stays silent, rubbing Louis shoulder through the tremors like somehow that will help make him feel better.

He feels so _unhelpful._ His parents divorced when he was so young he hardly remembers it, so he’s not really sure _how_ to make him feel better.

He rocks him side to side in lieu of the right words, but it seems to help a little.

Because, eventually, once Harry can feel the front of his shirt is soaked through and his laptop has long gone black in sleep mode, Louis takes in a deep, shaky breath. He keeps his chin lowered, but he speaks in a scratchy tone.

“I don’t really know why that happened. Thanks for—yeah. _I don’t know_. Sorry.”

 _This_ Harry knows how to respond to.

“No reason to apologise. Are you tired? You can stay here tonight, if…”

Harry can feel Louis’ halfhearted smile and shaky nod against his shirt. “Yeah. I’d like that. To sleep here.”

He pauses and brings his fingers to Harry’s stomach. “We could finish the episode first, though. I was liking how the fit one was having a sexuality crisis because of Fez’s dream, before.”

Louis’ asleep before it finishes, his fingers still loosely clutching the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

Harry doesn’t want to wake him up. He kisses Louis’ temple and settles in for the night, figuring that even _this_ can’t be worse than the bathtub.

***

Harry wakes up first in the morning. He has a terrible crick in his neck, and his back feels like it’s been through a blender, but Louis has a peaceful, serene expression on his face as he sleeps through the emerging sunlight.

Harry really _should_ put his curtains up, but he imagines it would feel too much like the end of an era. He isn’t ready.

So he strokes Louis’ cheek absently while he waits for him to wake up.

But he really _does_ seem like he could sleep through an earthquake. And Harry isn’t _nearly_ a saint.

“Wake up, babe,” he says to Louis. He doesn’t keep his voice low, and he shakes his shoulder until his eyes fly open.

“No.” Louis’ voice is deliciously early morning rough and deep. “Still drowning in guilt.”

Harry scrunches his face up and grimaces in self-disappointment. Overnight, he almost forgot the reason Louis ended up staying.

“I don’t want to be conscious. Still my fault.” Louis rolls away from him and hugs a pillow to his chest. Harry is too unsure of how to react to chase him.

“I’ve been secretly hoping for them to separate for _years,_ practically, because every night just felt like a fucking battlefield. What kind of son _hopes_ for his parents to break up? You should lock me up, Harry.”

Harry lets his mind wander to Louis in handcuffs, but he realises now is nowhere near the time.

Harry crisscrosses his legs and folds his fingers together in his lap. “It wasn’t, like, _malicious_ , though. The way you explained it made it seem like they haven’t been happy for a long time. And they’d keep you up because of it.”

Louis groans into the pillowcase. “I guess. What time is it?”

“Not sure,” Harry answers automatically.

Louis sags into the mattress. “I need to go home, Harry. I can’t leave my sisters alone today. My mum’s probably already at work.”

Harry frowns, reluctant to let him go when he still seems torn up about things.

“Okay. Do you want me to, like, help with anything?”

Louis snaps his eyes open. Harry almost thinks he must have spotted a murderer somewhere in the room, but then he speaks.

“Wait, you can cook.”

Harry shrugs modestly, even though he knows his fajitas recipe _belongs_ on the Food Network. “I can make the basics...”

***

“Harry, how am I supposed to know if it’s ready?”

Harry doesn’t pause from where he’s slicing mushrooms on the island. He realised within two minutes of cooking that Louis is helpless in the kitchen, so his sigh is more good-natured than frustrated. “Try a Rotini—make sure it’s al dente.”

Louis groans and leans against the countertop. “What’s a Rotini and what’s an al dente?”

Harry smiles and shakes his head. “Just bring me one.”

Harry can hear him struggling but refrains from helping, figuring it’s better for him to learn how to work a kitchen now rather than later.

“Alright. One steaming Rotitty. For your consumption,” Louis laughs, bringing a single noodle on a spoon to Harry’s lips.

“No! You’re going to feed me boiling water if you do it like that. Your _fingers,”_ Harry tells him exasperatedly, nodding to the spoon.

Louis sighs but takes the noodle between his fingers. He brings it to Harry’s open mouth but teases him by holding it out of range.

“Cooking is a _serious_ matter, Louis. Give me the noodle.”

Louis wiggles his eyebrows at him. “You want my _noodle?”_

Harry tries not to laugh, but Louis is so much happier than he seemed this morning and last night, and he can’t help it. It feels like he’s happier at least _partly_ because of Harry, like he’s given him some semblance of normalcy at a time Harry knows he’s probably unsure how to feel. And that makes Harry feel good.

Maybe he’s just trying to make himself feel better about not having the right words to say, but it’s worth a thought.

“Of course I want your noodle. But I want _this_ noodle, right now.”

Louis shoves it into his mouth. Harry would flick him in the arm or bite his neck if his hands weren’t occupied. Instead, he feels smug at the darkening of Louis’ eyes when he wraps his lips around his fingers before he pulls them out.

“Hm… a little tough but they should be good, now. Drain them.”

Louis’ mum gets home five minutes before the food is ready. “Louis? What’s—“ she pauses in the doorway. “Oh. Hello?”

“Oh, mum. This is Harry,” Louis introduces them quickly, wiping his fingers on the dishrag. He hurries to greet her and kiss her cheek.

Harry stirs the sauce and tries not to appear to be eavesdropping on the hushed conversation they’re having. Harry picks up snippets— _wanted to make you a nice meal since, you know—_ and— _Harry oversaw the whole thing—_ and, finally— _of course it’s edible!_

He tries unsuccessfully not to laugh at that.

“I knew this couldn’t have been Louis’ doing. Thanks for cooking, Harry,” she says to him from across the room, her smile tight.

But when everything is ready and Louis’ sisters filter their way into the kitchen, Harry feels like he doesn’t belong, anymore. It isn’t that he feels _unwelcome,_ it’s just that he knows they have a lot to discuss.

As a _family_.

And Harry would feel like an intruder if he stuck around for that. A nosy intruder.

“Louis—“ he grabs his hand and leads him to the corner of the kitchen once the table is mostly set.

Louis seems to be a step ahead of him. “We’re probably going to talk about— _things._ My mum said she doesn’t mind if you stay, but, like—“

Louis looks like he doesn’t know how to articulate that he doesn’t want Harry around for it.

“Hey. It’s okay. I understand. It’s a family thing—“

“No! It’s not that. It’s just, like, I don’t really know what’s going to happen. I’ll probably tell you everything, but since my sisters will be—“

Harry cuts him off with a single finger to his lips.

“No. Louis, I completely understand. Can I still see you tonight?”

“Of course,” Louis seems to sag in relief. “But, wait—“ he turns to the huge bowl of pasta. “Bring some to your parents.”

***

When Louis climbs in through Harry’s window later that night, his eyes are red but bright.

“How’d it go?” Harry asks as cheerfully as he can, plastering himself to the wall so Louis can climb in bed beside him.

He shrugs once he’s situated on his side, curled into Harry. “About as well as you’d expect if you were telling four little girls their parents are divorcing.”

Harry grimaces and pulls him close before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sorry, babe. You okay?”

Louis groans and flips onto his back. “I _think_ so. It’s just kind of like—it is what it is, you know? When I let myself think about it too much it kind of sucks; but then when it’s just you and me, it’s like I’m distracted from it, or, like, happier? So I feel like I’m not thinking straight right now, really.” Louis pauses. “Wow, that sounds cheesy as fuck.”

Harry smiles to himself. “That doesn’t sound cheesy. That sounds _romantic._ I make you forget your troubles. Is it the way my hair curls or my deep, sexy—”

“Ugh.” Louis hides his face in his hands. “Stop. That makes me sound so—gross.”

“Not gross.” Harry slips his arm between the back of Louis’ head and the bed.

“Alright—maybe not _completely_ gross.”

Louis traces his fingers along the inside of Harry’s forearm slowly. He glances from Harry’s eyes to his lips and even to his shoulders before he continues, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I really do like you a ridiculous amount, Harry. So I don’t want you to, like, think you have to take care of me? If that makes sense. Just being with you makes me feel better, so you don’t have to, like, check in on me every time we go a few hours between seeing each other, like you did. Just now.”

He hides his face in Harry’s chest and sighs.

“I mean, I like that you seem to care a lot and want to know, but I don’t want you to think of me as the neighbour who sent you a frown each night in hopes you’d come talk to me. That’s _not me_ , Harry. I’m not generally a _sad_ person or something.”

He’s speaking slowly and clearly, like he really wants Harry to understand his words.

“And I don’t _want_ to be. And they’re not going to be fighting, anymore, so there’s not really a reason to be, either.”

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out against Harry’s neck, like he’s exhaling something more. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I like who I am _best_ when we’re together. And then once things settle down, again, everything will be okay. _Better_ , even.”

The admission feels private and genuine, and Harry’s just leaning in to kiss him when Louis’ phone buzzes.

“Shit. It’s Zayn. He probably just wants to know what’s happening. Do you mind?”

Harry shakes his head and lies back as Louis answers and launches into an explanation.

Harry rubs his shoulder soothingly as he tries not to feel too jealous that Louis seems to give Zayn a few more details or that he refers to past things Harry doesn’t understand since he was never there.

He knows it’s irrational to be jealous of Zayn, but he’s never been a very rational person.

“Oh God.” Louis covers his eyes once he presses the red end button. “Is it pathetic I’m kind of upset I won’t be able to have my end of the summer party? It was _legendary,_ Harry. _Legendary_. You would have had so much fun,” he finishes regretfully.

Harry snickers as Louis pushes his forehead back into his chest. “Not pathetic. Why can’t you, though?”

“They… they always used to go on a weekend trip for their anniversary. It was _always_ the week before school started. My sisters would stay with our cousins, and I always had the house to myself. But—obviously not _this_ year.”

“I—“ Harry feels guilty for bringing it up, but it feels like too good of an opportunity to pass up. It’s like the universe is rooting for the party to take place.

Fate isn’t to be messed with.

“ _My_ parents will be out of town the first week of school. We could have it here…”

Louis pulls away and traces Harry’s jaw with his finger. “Well. You _would_ need adult supervision…”

Harry pushes him off the bed, but Louis drags him down with him. They land in a heap on the floor, with Harry hardly catching himself before he crushes Louis to dust.

“I think I’d like that a lot, actually. Both of us hosting. Here. _Together_.”

Harry drops to his elbows and pushes the hair from Louis’ eyes. “Me, too.”

And then he kisses him senseless, until every thought of family and parents and parties are nonexistent.

***

The party falls the Saturday before school begins. Harry’s parents leave just after dinnertime, and the boys all come over after with an almost _ridiculous_ overabundance of alcohol.

The boys help pack away everything fragile, private, and expensive. Harry has never appreciated his new friends more.

“Thanks for the help. Niall isn’t invited because he likes Buble,” Louis teases once they’ve hidden everything worth hiding but Harry’s PS4.

Harry can sense the rebuttal stirring behind Niall’s lips, but he refrains.

Which is good. Harry would probably give him a stern talking to if he hadn't. They all know this party is _for_ Louis _._

Harry has mostly been able to repress his need to mother hen Louis and smother him with extra love, but he _might_ have sent out a strongly worded group text demanding that everyone treat today like it’s his birthday.

He just wants Louis to have a _fun_ day, especially since he knows things are still really rough at home. He doesn’t bring it up very often, but Harry can tell things are still bothering him; some nights he can tell by the way he pulls Harry in so he’s wrapped around him almost _too_ tightly, and some by the way his voice shakes when he tells him he’s bringing his sisters to his dad’s flat the next day so he can’t stay the night.

And he knows everything won’t magically get better because of one great night, but he also knows it can’t hurt.

Harry locks his parents’ door with a click and leans against it, smiling to the group assembled just outside as he changes the subject. “I’ve never actually had such a huge party. I’m almost nervous. I feel like I’m losing my party virginity.”

Louis coughs from beside him like he’s choking on water. “Are you—you’re a virgin?”

Harry turns to stare at him, angling himself away from the rest of the group. “I mean—“

He tilts his head significantly and tries to communicate through just his facial expression because all of a sudden the silence is unnerving, like they’re _all_ waiting on Harry’s answer.

“Oh, Niall, I was meaning to ask you…” Liam breaks the awkward silence, and Louis nods his head slowly like he understands.

Harry definitely wouldn’t consider himself virginal, anymore. Just last night, Louis let him put _four_ fingers inside of him.

While on the school roof and beneath the stars.

It was all of his nighttime fantasies come to life. His fingers were squeezed so tightly together and Louis squirmed like he wanted more but less at the same time but he couldn’t make up his mind over which he wanted more.

The way he came apart shaking and moaning Harry’s name is a memory he’ll never forget. Even when he’s old and wrinkled, he’s sure his brain will recognise the memory as _very important_ and it will be saved.

So, yeah, even though he and Louis haven’t _technically_ gone all the way, Harry doesn’t think he’s a virgin, anymore. Virginity is highly subjective and heteronormative, anyway.

Once they’re on the couch playing FIFA as they anxiously wait for people to arrive, Harry’s phone vibrates. He hands it to Louis to check for him, since he’s only seconds from defeating Niall and securing the game win.

“Okay, so, Gemma says: be _safe_ tonight.” Louis turns to him with his mouth open in shock and shrieks out, “What does she think is _happening_ tonight, Harold?”

Harry almost drops his controller and fails at blocking Niall’s goal. “I didn’t—she’s making _assumptions!_ I never said anything was going to happen for _sure_ — _”_

Louis snickers giddily. “I’m kidding, Harry. She didn’t even text you. I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Harry blushes and presses his lips together, embarrassed, but Louis understands. He reaches over and grabs Harry’s thigh, just above the knee. “It was Jonny. He said—“ Louis pauses as he _actually_ scrolls through his messages. “Ellis and I are coming tonight. Miss you loads. Love you more than anyone else. _Ever_.”

Louis’ fingers go rigid against his knee, but he keeps his voice light. “Anything you need to tell me?”

Harry smiles, his heart bursting with love and excitement. “Yeah. You’re meeting my best friends tonight.”

***

Harry quickly learns Niall was _not_ exaggerating one bit when he told Harry that Louis threw _ragers_. He’s never seen a house stuffed past capacity, but he’s willing to bet right here and now he could be fined for the sheer amount of people stuffed into his living room.

He didn’t realise parties like these were  _real._ He’s always imagined the movies exaggerated the amount of people, the ear-splitting noise, and the people practically having sex in the corner.

But he’s throwing a party so picturesque he’s almost disappointed there’s no hidden camera.

The music is pulsing, _loud,_ so loud he can feel the bass thrumming through his chest because Niall’s stereo is (as he shouted to the entire room once he had seven shots in his system) an incontestable work of art.

It was a _little bit_ odd for Harry when the first few guests arrived because he knew absolutely no one. He learned so many new names and saw so many new faces that his brain is still absolutely fried.

There are guests of all ages, some intimidating and some Harry is uncomfortable to have in his house because they look so _young,_ but Louis stays by his side the entire time and reassures him this is nothing out of the ordinary. That all guests are welcome, which is what makes his parties exceptional.

But Louis turns almost shy when he introduces Harry to a tall boy whose name he can’t catch, and he hastily pulls him along to the kitchen to take more shots.

Later, Niall whispers into his ear that he was Louis’ ex.

But Harry himself is pleasantly buzzed, so he shrugs it off and doesn’t let any jealousy settle in.

In an unsuccessful attempt to remember names, he opted out of the pregaming with Liam; but once there were a decent amount of guests, he joined in on the fun. He and Louis took tequila shots together, complete with licking salt from each others’ necks and sucking the bare minimum of the lime before spitting it out and just using it as an excuse to make out, much to the joy of their small but rapt audience.

He and Louis are truly the dream team. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and slurs to him that the party is _almost_ as good as the one he threw the year before.

Harry’s intoxicated, too, and not just on alcohol. Louis is bright in front of him, with a sparkle in his eye that Harry wants to lock up and keep in his pocket forever.

It’s obvious as Louis climbs up on the tabletop and shimmies to Zayn and Perrie that he’s in his element in a way Harry hasn’t completely seen before. Louis is loving the attention, bathing in it, really, his eyes red and glassy but his smile blinding.

He looks _so_ happy. It reminds Harry of before he knew him, when he and Zayn were playing guitar on his bed, and Harry couldn’t help but stare. He has the same smile—less inhibited, more _joyful._

And it strikes Harry that Louis is too big for this small town. Among this mass of people, he sticks out in the best way possible, like he’s a different species, almost. Harry doesn’t doubt he’ll move on to bigger and better things and never look back once he’s given the chance.

It makes Harry feel small and a little bit drunk-sad, especially since Jonny and Ellis haven’t arrived; and as the seconds trickle by, he’s losing all faith they’ll even show up at all. He feels like he’s being left behind _again,_ so thoughts of Louis leaving him once the school year is over are even less welcome than normal.

But he tries to force his mouth into a smile as he pulls Louis down from the table once he begins to consider swinging from the chandelier.

“Maybe we should get you some water?” he suggests over the music.

But Louis shakes his head, grinning, and pulls Harry by the hand to the front room, where the dancing is taking place.

There are sweating bodies all around them, girls and guys, and they’re all squeezed together within the confines of the four walls. Louis wrestles his way easily to the centre of the floor, tugging Harry by his clammy hand. The flashing light makes the crowd look like a collection of black and white action shots; and once they’re dead in the centre, Louis leans all of his weight back onto Harry and starts to circle his hips to the beat.

And he can _dance._ Harry is out of practice, following to the best of his ability, but Louis knows just how to move in a way Harry never will.

He can even _multitask_ while he does it. Halfway through an upbeat mix of Beyoncé, he turns in Harry’s arms and opens his legs wide for Harry to stick a thigh between them, all while kissing his neck and sucking purple marks into it as he rubs his semi against Harry’s thigh to the beat.

But just as Harry thinks he _might_ possibly be getting the gist of things, he hears a high-pitched voice yelling his name. He can hear her loud and clear, even over the music.

He stills Louis with a gentle hand to his shoulder and turns in confusion because he’d recognise that voice _anywhere_.

“El—“ he’s cut off by two people dragging him through the dancing bodies until they reach the edge where there’s a bit more room to breathe.

“You’re… you’re _here_!” he shouts in disbelief, because now he can see for _sure_ that this is Jonny and Ellis.

They’re here. This isn’t a dream. They drove two hours just to see him and come to the party, even though they won’t be able to stay for long because of Jonny’s early shift.

He almost feels like crying, which is odd because he’s definitely _not_ an emotional drunk.

They’re here—physically here. Harry can’t even believe it. He hugs both of them fiercely, not even caring how sweaty he is because he’s been trying to dance with Louis—

Which, he realises he lost him in the sea of dancing bodies as they pulled him away.

Where did he go?

He takes a quick look around, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Harry shrugs and figures he’s gone off to smoke with Zayn.

“I can’t believe you two _made it_!” He gives them both a quick once-over but doesn’t see anything too troubling or new. It’s almost like it’s been days, rather than months.

“Your hair is shorter,” he tells Ellis, twirling a strand between his fingers. “I like it! And _you’ve_ bulked up!”

Jonny might blush, but Harry can’t really tell over the strobe light. “Figured since you’re gone the girls need someone new to drool over.”

Harry punches him in the arm before hugging him in apology. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers into Jonny’s ear, but then he spots Louis over his shoulder.

“Oh! _Louis_ —Louis, over here!”

Louis looks suddenly lost in the sea of bodies, but he stumbles his way to them once their eyes meet. Harry pulls him in by the elbow once he’s close and presses a kiss to his temple.

“These are my two best friends, Jonny and Ellis,” he tells him. Jonny nods to Louis and Ellis moves forward to hug him; it feels like his two worlds are combining to make one. Harry watches fondly until he sees Louis’ face. He hugs Ellis back tightly and welcomes both of them with a smile, but his eyes are guarded and careful.

And Harry doesn’t like it. Only minutes ago he was smiling at Harry wantonly, like he couldn’t wait to get him naked, and now he doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all. He’s about to ask Louis what’s wrong when Niall physically _runs_ into Jonny and spills beer all down the front of his shirt.

“Shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t—“ Niall pauses and furrows his eyebrows as he holds him at arms length. “I don’t know you.”

Harry introduces them all quickly before pulling Louis into a dark corner, leaving them to discuss the struggles of living in a town where seeing a stranger is actually unheard of.

“What’s wrong?”

Louis shrugs like he doesn’t really have anything to say and avoids his eyes.

“Nothing’s _wrong._ I’m just not used to having to share you. Or you paying attention to someone else more than you pay attention to _me_. And there’s just a lot of people here and it was a lot of fun when I was with you, but once you left I realised that it’s not the party that was fun. It was being with you the whole time, and knowing you were, like, watching me all night,” he finishes with a blush.

Harry’s jaw drops. “Louis, I didn’t—I just lost you in the crowd. You know you’re my number one.”

Louis nods and grabs his hand as he leans into him. His fingers are tight and gripping, slightly shaky in the way they are whenever Louis is trying to pretend he’s fine but wants Harry to wrap his arms tighter around his shoulder.

“You want to go outside?”

***

“Sorry for being antisocial. It’s just, like, there’s a lot of people in there, you know? Your friends seem cool, though.”

They’re leaned up against the back wall of the hot tub. The area is almost completely deserted, except for a couple vigorously making out next to the sliding glass door. The streetlamp lining the road behind the fence has a shoddy bulb, so they’re treated to two minutes of darkness followed by two minutes of flickering, horror-movie lighting, and the sound of Niall singing Michael Buble karaoke inside is more than audible.

“Thanks for making this happen,” Louis adds, burrowing into Harry’s side and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Anything for you,” Harry answers, but Louis pushes at his waist in disgust.

“Ew. I can’t believe you actually just said that. Don’t touch me.”

He scurries away, kicking dirt against Harry’s jeans, so he has no choice but to follow him.

The chase is short and unnecessary. He wrestles Louis down in seconds, forgetting that the ground is still a bit wet.

Harry loosens his hold to allow Louis to flip to his back.

“This is all your fault,” Louis reprimands him, but he’s staring at Harry’s lips and barely hiding a smile.

“You say that now, but I think you like when—“

Louis cuts him off by kissing him; he brings his dewy hands to Harry’s hair and rubs his fingers through the length deliberately. Harry can feel a wet clump of dirt slide its way down his neck, and he breaks the kiss to laugh into Louis’ mouth.

He sinks down to his elbows after, his nose brushing against Louis’, but he refrains from kissing him again. Louis stares up at him with bright eyes, his thumb brushing the side of his neck lightly. He bites his lip before he speaks as softly as the wind.

“If you want to—tonight—I have _stuff._ If you wanted to do it when we have all night, instead of, like, when we’re worried about having to stay quiet or that someone will walk in. Since you’ve never—”

Harry feels like his vocal cords are suddenly tied in a knot. He can’t get the words out.

“—I mean, only if you want to, obviously. I guess we haven’t really _talked_ about it before—“

“No, that— I mean, yes _. Yes._ I want to.”

Louis sags into the dirt in relief. “I thought you were trying to think of how not to hurt my feelings.”

“No. I want everything with you,” Harry whispers as he leans their foreheads together.

Louis doesn’t get mad at him for being cheesy, this time.

“But, um—“ Harry begins, suddenly self-conscious and worried he’s read things wrong. “When you say _it,_ do you mean—“

Louis rolls his eyes and scratches along Harry’s hairline. “I mean _exactly_ what you think I mean.”

“Okay,” Harry says, gulping. “Okay, so does that mean you’re—or am _I?”_

Louis bites his lip before rolling his eyes.

“First time kind of hurts, so you can go on top, if you’d like,” Louis grins, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, I kind of like being fucked better. More _intense_.”

Harry clenches his jaw against the sudden rush of arousal he feels as he imagines Louis moaning out below him.

 _Soon._ Once everyone leaves. He contemplates shutting the party down early just for this.

“Ah,” Louis giggles, “that _reminds_ me."

He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and pulls him in closer, leaning in and licking along the shell of Harry’s ear before he continues. “I’m going to be _really_ tight. I don’t want you to embarrass yourself by coming before you’re even inside me, and I still want to feel you in me on Monday during first period, so I’ll suck you off right here, right now.”

He pushes up and flips them so he’s straddling Harry, his back suddenly freezing as the wet ground seeps in through his layers. Louis kisses him with tongue before he pulls his jeans down as far as he can.

The streetlight switches off, and Harry alternates between staring out into the black abyss and at Louis’ face as he works his mouth over him expertly. It’s peaceful, but makes him feel small.

Maybe the best time to have an epiphany isn’t while receiving a blow job; but as he blinks up to the sky, Harry can’t help but feel meeting Louis was written in the stars, planned since birth. It _can’t_ have been a coincidence that they found each other.

The world is vast and unpredictable, filled with dark and cruel and unfeeling and callous souls. It’s unlikely to find someone you just _click_ with, and even less likely that person happens to be the boy who happens to live next door with a window jumping distance from your own. That's one in a million.

The stars and Earth and sun aligned perfectly for them. He can’t help but feel he was supposed to meet Louis as a sad boy who hid from the world behind his headphones and underneath his blankets. Louis was supposed to meet him as a lonely boy with a secret eating away at his soul with nobody else who saw behind his carefully constructed façade.

It was _supposed_ to happen like this.

He and Louis burn brighter together. They’re wholes on their own; but when they’re together, they create something more, brighter than they could ever be with anyone else.

That’s all Harry can think as he comes, Louis’ name on his lips and the burning imprint of the stars branded behind his eyelids.

He and Louis are constellations.

***

After returning the favor, Harry kisses Louis and they stumble back into the swing of the party. Harry tracks down Jonny and Ellis and catches up with them while Louis hangs off of Liam and tries to sing along to a song with no words.

Harry feels light and free, and he and Louis keep making eye contact across the room and it’s _perfect._ It’s the best party Harry’s ever attended, and he still can’t believe he’s technically the one throwing it,

“So, that’s the famous Louis,” Ellis finally says once Harry’s been caught staring for too long.

“Yeah. That’s him. I think I’m in love, guys. Honest to God in _love_ with him.”

He knows his smile is dopey and love-struck, but Louis is licking, of all things, _icing,_ off Niall’s cheek and nothing has ever been more endearing.

“I think I’m going to barf,” Jonny laughs.

“Well, I’m not,” Ellis says with a slap to the back of his head. “I think it’s _sweet._ It’s, like, I’m so sad you’ve moved, but since it happened I’m glad you’re _here.”_

When the police come to shut down the party, it’s hard to say goodbye. He feels like he hasn’t seen his best friends in far longer than two months, but Louis promises them he’ll drive Harry to see them if things turn drastic.

Harry kisses him right then and there, and he thinks maybe he should feel weird about it since Jonny and Ellis have never seen him kiss anyone, but he doesn’t. Ellis hugs Louis but tells him to watch out because her dad is in the military, and Harry thinks his face might split in half because of his smile.

***

“I’ll be back after I shower and grab the—the _things_ ,” Louis whispers to him breathlessly. It’s just the two of them in the empty driveway, lingering after the final three left behind nothing but exhaust and a groan that they’ll see them again at school on Monday.

As Harry passes through the house, he’s almost impressed. It isn’t _too_ trashed. There are bottles and cups _everywhere,_ but nothing too dark or sticky seems to have spilled onto the white carpet, other than in one corner that he _thinks_ he’ll be able to hide with a potted plant. He’s relieved and kicks a can down the stairs in excitement as he prepares to wash the party grime from his body.

But Harry can hardly breathe as he showers. He has a semi because now that he knows it’s a sure thing and it’s so _close,_ he feels like he’s already a few minutes away from coming.

Just from the thought alone.

He keeps the water temperature icy, but it doesn’t deter him; he comes against the tiles, breathing in drops of cold water. Even though it’s the second orgasm of the night, he doesn’t doubt he’ll be able to get it up again when he sees Louis.

He’s not sure what to change into once he towels off.

Just pants? Sweats? A soft t-shirt? Nothing?

He shrugs in deliberation and makes his way to the kitchen to eat a banana and piece of bread in his towel, to sober up even more.

Once the peel is pointlessly thrown away in the bin and Harry is anxiously pacing the kitchen trying to decide what to wear while he avoids stepping on the broken shards of glass from a beer bottle, he spots a white candle hidden in the corner of the kitchen.

It’s coconut vanilla, his mum’s favourite, so he grabs the lighter from the drawer and ignites the flame, sighing once the kitchen begins to smell familiar and calming.

But then he hears the doorbell.

“Oh. Was I too early, or…?” Louis asks, glancing down to the towel as he slips through the door.

“No,” Harry tells him, closing the door softly behind him. “I just—I wasn’t sure what to wear for…”

He looks Louis up and down; he feels self-conscious when he realises Louis is fully dressed, sweatshirt and all.

“I thought we could watch a film, first, or something. We’ll probably pass out after, so, like, there’s no rush.”

Harry lets Louis pick out a movie while he runs upstairs to his room to pull on a pair of sweats.

When he comes back with the lit candle in tow, Louis is balled up on the mostly cleared couch on the centre cushion, _Aladdin_ already two minutes in.

“I saved you a spot,” Louis says, just as Harry asks, “Aladdin? Really?”

He sets the candle on the end table beside a box of tissues.

“A candle? Really? Aladdin is a _classic_ ,” Louis reminds him, curling under Harry’s arm and leaning into him when he sits. He curls his feet in as well, so he’s a blob of soft, cuddly warmth beside him.

“You’re _hot,_ ” Louis adds, his face pressed to Harry’s neck as he smiles. He’s not sure he means the temperature or if he’s just complimenting him, but he knows he _feels_ a bit warm pressed so close to Louis, especially knowing what’s coming.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hormones in check and refrain from pinning Louis to the cushions and sucking bruises into his neck, so he distracts himself by watching the movie intently, shifting so Louis can’t feel that he’s already hard.

But it still feels like there’s a sizzling tension between them, like they’re both anxiously waiting for the other to initiate something. Louis is rubbing circles into his inner thigh, and Harry’s rubbing Louis’ hardened nipple through his shirt in retaliation, so they’re both breathing unevenly as they joke about how weird it would be to _actually_ meet a genie.

By the time Aladdin is taking Jasmine on a magic carpet ride, Louis begins to squirm. He nudges his knee into Harry’s thigh and digs his fingers between Harry’s ribs, so Harry grabs him by the waist to still him.

But that makes Louis rise onto his knees so Harry’s grabbing his bum and his face is buried in his neck, and that’s when it clicks they’re finally done watching the movie.

“ _Oh,_ ” Harry realises. He pulls Louis in closer and grins up at him when he swings a leg over Harry’s thighs and straddles him, his hands gripping Harry’s shoulders.

Harry runs his fingertips along Louis’ sides reverently, hitching the sweatshirt up along with the shirt underneath, slowly, his fingers shaking. “Can I take this off?”

Louis nods and raises his arms. The shirts get caught against Louis’ ears, but it only makes it more satisfying when he gets Louis sitting half naked on his thighs, his erection pressing against the material of his sweats.

When they shed their final layers, Harry begins to feel immoral that there’s still a children’s movie playing. But then Louis gives him a spectacular view when he climbs off of his legs and bends down to unzip his overnight bag, and he throws the thought from his mind.

Louis sits on his thighs again and drops the lube and condom to the side. “Are you sure you want to? I didn’t, like, _pressure_ you or—“

“Pressure me? That’s funny,” Harry assures him, pulling Louis closer so he can lick into his mouth, moaning when their cocks drag.

Louis grinds his hips in a slow, dirty rhythm as he grabs the lube, and Harry wants to whimper. His heart is already beating so fast it’s hard to breathe.

“Your fingers,” Louis whispers to him while he uncaps it.

He kisses each fingertip but Harry’s thumb before he drizzles lube onto them and spreads it to the bottom knuckle.

“Alright—just like last night,” he tells Harry softly over the television.

It takes a few moments since Louis is facing him; but after a bit of guidance, he nudges the tip of his pointer finger past the muscle. Louis squeezes tight around it, and Harry can feel a drop of precome drip from him when it hits him that’s how he’s going to feel around his dick.

“I need more,” Louis moans out, so he adds a second. By now Aladdin’s voice is simply annoying, and Harry is honestly much more interested in watching and listening to _Louis._

So he fumbles his left hand around until he finds the remote and turns the television off, all while he adds his third finger.

Louis grips his shoulder harder, and Harry can see the muscles in his arms straining. Harry slows his fingers, rubbing his fingertips as gently as possible despite the urge to do the exact opposite.

And now that it’s quiet, he can hear the soft hitch of Louis’ voice as he goes deeper, past the second knuckle. He’s glad he found the remote, because Harry would probably never forgive himself if he missed out on an entire sense while they were doing this.

Louis’ thighs are beginning to shake from being half-raised to give him an easier angle, so Harry spreads his legs and pulls Louis down so all of his weight rests on his thighs.

It’s only a little bit awkward for his wrist, and Louis wraps his arms tight around Harry’s shoulders so they’re pressed even closer. Louis’ cock is caught between them and they’re joined from thighs to chest; Harry’s still shaking like he’s cold or nervous or excited, so Louis kisses his shoulder to calm him as he rides his fingers.

“I think—I think I need one more,” Louis groans out, breathing heavily against his ear.

It’s a tight squeeze, but Harry fits his pinky finger in along with the other three.

“Fuck. Fuck, that’s a lot,” Louis says with his eyes squeezed shut. But soon enough he’s grinding back onto Harry’s fingers, his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry’s still trying to figure out whether he wants to tug on Louis’ hair or grip his thigh more when he stills.

“Think we’re good,” Louis breathes, and then it clicks that it’s time. It’s _happening._ He’s going to be inside Louis within the next minute.

He actively reminds himself to stay cool.

Harry reaches out blindly for the condom as he lifts his chin to give Louis a quick kiss.

But his fingers are too slippery to rip the foil, so Louis grabs it from his hands.

After he tears it open, he leans back and rolls it on, speaking to Harry lowly as he does. “Always use protection, Harry. And pinch the tip at the top so—“

“Oh my God. I know how to use a _condom_ ,” Harry laughs out, almost offended that Louis thinks so little of him, though he _is_ inexperienced.

“Sorry for trying to _educate_ you since you’ve never done this before,” Louis snaps jokingly as he grabs the lube. “Knowing how in theory and in practice are two completely different things. I’m just looking out for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” Harry gasps and squeezes Louis’ hip as he spreads the lube over the condom. “But you’re making me feel like an inexperienced teenager who’ll only last two minutes and—“

Louis gives him a significant look once he decides it’s sufficiently lubed and wraps both arms around his shoulders. “I’ll love you the same either way. Whether you’re done after two minutes, or if you _somehow_ make it all the way to four.”

Harry’s about to complain to him about his lack of confidence when the words sink in.

_Love._

“I—I—" 

“Fuck. _Please_ don’t make a big deal out of that,” Louis rushes out, dropping their foreheads together. “I just—I felt it. It felt right. _Don’t say anything_ —please, just, kiss me. _Please_ ,” Louis insists.

So Harry obeys, though he almost laughs into it because he looks so flustered. Louis isn’t gentle with the kiss; he bites Harry’s lip before kissing him so hard he thinks he can practically feel his teeth.

Harry thinks maybe he’s rough with it because he’s raised onto his knees and holding Harry’s dick in place behind him as he sinks down on it. He whimpers into his mouth like he’s unsure whether he likes it or not, and Harry can’t focus on his mouth because he’s too busy marveling at the fact that he’s actually _pushing into_ Louis.

And, after what feels like an eternity, he’s all the way inside.

And it’s a _lot_ —Harry thinks he might black out for a moment with his fingers violently digging into the cushions because Louis is tight and smooth around him, and he just told him he _loved_ him, kind of.

He’s overwhelmed. He wants to buck his hips up, but he feels like Louis is almost untouchable and like maybe this is all a dream and if he touches him he’ll wake up sweaty with a raging boner at his old house.

“Okay?” Louis questions softly, both hands gripping his shoulders, and that’s when he realises this is real, and happening, and if he doesn’t pay attention he’s going to miss it.

Harry nods as best as he can, but then Louis rises up onto his knees a little before sinking back down again, and he gives up on all communication.

He throws his head back and squeezes the couch between his fingers even tighter. He’s infinitely thankful for taking matters into his own hands and letting himself have the second orgasm because he _never_ thought it would feel this good.

Louis’ fingernails are digging into the skin of his shoulder and dragging, and he knows there will probably be red, raised lines in the morning, but he’s glad there will be a reminder.

Louis gulps before he moves one hand to Harry’s chest and rubs over a nipple. “You can—you can _touch_ me.” He pauses and bites his lip like he’s worried as he rolls his hips back. “Sorry if I freaked you out with—before.”

Harry groans and pulls Louis in close with both hands to his waist. He ruts up just as Louis grinds down, their chests and the sides of their faces pressed together.

It’s hard to think while it feels like his blood is flowing five times hotter through his veins, but he somehow chokes out, “I’m not freaked out—you just attacked me before I could— _fuck_ —tell you back.”

Louis bites into his shoulder as he rolls his whole body. “I attacked you because you looked _terrified_.”

“I don’t think you could terrify me if you _tried,_ ” Harry grunts out, moving his hands to Louis’ arse and flipping them.

And he _meant_ for it to be hot and manly, but Louis hits his head on the not completely comfy edge of the couch, and Harry slips out of him.

Virgin mistake.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he apologises, moving his fingers to Louis’ hair and scratching the back of his head while he tries to figure out his next step.

“Just—if you don’t get back inside me right _now—”_ Louis tells him with fond eyes, moving his foot to Harry’s shoulder as he sits back and lines himself up.

He’s as slow as possible as he pushes back in, not completely sure of the correct pace, but Louis pulls him in with the leg not on his shoulder. He builds an amateurish, steady rhythm and holds Louis’ thighs as he presses into him, but things still feel unspoken.

He drops down to his elbows beside Louis’ ribs, bringing Louis’ leg with him.

“ _Fuck,_ Harry, I’m not that flexible—“

“Shh, of course you are,” Harry stresses, keeping his thrusts deep. “I lo—“

“You can’t say it while we’re having sex, or it doesn’t mean anything!” Louis shouts out frantically as he clamps his hand over Harry’s mouth.

“Buh I _oo_ ean it,” he grumbles into Louis’ hand incoherently.

He doesn’t pause in his thrusts, and he thinks offhandedly that maybe now _isn’t_ the best time to talk about it.

But it also _does_ feel like the best time to talk about it. He’s _never_ felt as close to someone as he feels to Louis right now, and he feels like he needs to get it out in the open. Louis _deserves_ to know he’s loved and that it isn’t just a spur of the moment, mid-passion declaration.

He pulls Louis’ hand from his mouth and pins it to the couch below him, then laces their fingers together tightly.

“I kind of realised tonight when you blew me in the grass—“

“Very romantic, Harry,” Louis interjects sarcastically, but he turns his face into the couch and closes his eyes blissfully.

Harry tickles the foot on his shoulder in warning; Louis giggles and tries to pull away, so Harry squeezes his hand harder. 

“I’m _serious,_ Louis! I think we’re—” Louis' eyes widen and he lets out a loud moan like something has changed for the better, so Harry tries to keep his aim centred. “I think we’re, like, _destined_ or something. I looked up to the stars, and I realised, like, _we’re_ stars. It was a religious experience.”

It sounded better in his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t speak while he’s trying to concentrate on other, more important things.

Fucking and speaking are difficult to do simultaneously—he’ll have to work on it. They’ll have to _practice_.

Louis lets his leg slip from Harry’s shoulder and brings his arm around his neck, instead, pulling him close so they’re breathing into each others’ mouths. “Well, I’m glad my—fuck, my mouth makes you see God. But right now _I’m_ seeing stars and—“ he cuts off with a sharp intake of breath, and his back arches. “Don’t _stop!”_

Louis closes his eyes tightly and constricts his thighs around Harry’s waist. “Right there _. Harder.”_

He throws his head back over the arm of the couch, and Harry can’t resist the smooth line of his neck and jaw as he slams into him. He moves forward and latches onto his Adam’s apple, squeezing Louis’ hand so tightly he’s afraid they’ll never separate because he can feel the pressure building inside him, and the pleasure is so good it’s almost _torture_.

“ _Faster_ ,” Louis breathes out, his pulse pounding below Harry’s tongue. His hair is fanned out behind him over the couch, his tongue darting out to lick his lips the closer he gets, and Harry can feel his orgasm begin before Louis can, probably.

He spasms around his cock and tightens his arm around Harry’s neck before he arches into him. He lets out the most beautiful, unrestrained moan that sends a rush of heat straight through Harry’s body.

They come at the same time, chests heaving and breath stuttering and toes curling together, and Harry almost cries because he’s so in love it _hurts_.

He tries to keep his watering eyes open to file Louis’ expression away forever; but as he spills into the condom and Louis is still coming between them, it’s too much. He breathes into Louis’ neck as the waves of pleasure pulse through him, his body rocking with each one.

And after, he sags on top of Louis, more exhausted than he thought possible. Louis’ come is smeared between their stomachs, and he knows he should probably do something about it, but his arms are trembling and there’s a warmth in his stomach that won’t go away.

Louis runs his fingers through his hair softly and pulls him in so he can kiss his forehead. “Good job, babe.”

Harry cringes as he pulls out and ties the condom. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“No. My first time I hardly lasted two minutes,” Louis laughs breathlessly as Harry throws it in the general direction of the bin. “It’s a good thing I gave you that magical, life-altering blowjob.”

Harry self-consciously scratches behind his neck before he grabs a tissue from the end table. “Pulled myself off in the shower, too. Wanted it to be good enough for you.”

He sits up on his knees and wipes the come from Louis’ stomach.

“Well, aren’t _you_ an overachiever,” Louis says fondly. He pulls Harry down by the back of his neck into an unhurried kiss and rubs his toes along Harry’s bare leg.

It’s gentle, his tongue slow and soft and coaxing against Harry’s. He manouevers himself to fit between Harry and the couch and throws a leg over him, so Harry has one leg stuck between Louis’.

“Thanks for tonight. And for before—I’m so glad you moved next door to me.”

Harry sneaks his arm below Louis’ head, so it’s cushioned by his bicep. The smell of coconut in the air is mixed with the now familiar smell of sex, but he can’t focus on anything but the blue of Louis’ eyes and the steady pound of his heart.

“You know, I _meant_ it. Before. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I love you. A lot. I love you _so much._ ”

Louis blushes and hides his face in Harry’s collarbone. “Well, _I_ only love you a little.”

Harry laughs it off, but it leaves a nagging pulling at his heart— until Louis thinks he’s sleeping, and he whispers into the dark.

“You’re so fucking cheesy, Harry Styles. But you’re the Cassiopeia to my Cepheus.”

Harry doesn’t know much about astronomy, but he goes to sleep happy.

***

In the morning, Harry wakes up to a scream.

He pulls a half-asleep Louis in closer to his chest, and his eyes fly open. He’s horrified to see his mum standing before them, her eyes covered by her hands.

“I—mum—I thought the wedding was _tonight_ —“

He throws the blanket left abandoned at the foot of the couch over his and Louis’ bodies, cringing as an empty cup flings to the floor.

“So _this_ is what you do when we’re not home? You defile our couch and our _house?_ ”

Louis’ face is rosy in humiliation, and Harry imagines his is just as tomato-red, if not worse. “We’re decent now, mum. It was—this was our first time, I swear!”

And now his mum knows the exact day he first slept with a boy.

She knows _much_ too much about his sexual encounters, by now.

She turns but keeps her eyes to the littered floor. “Harry, _don’t test me_. I had to cancel a venue, a caterer, and a minister, as well as calling the _entire_ wedding party and the upset family last night. If this couch isn’t decontaminated and Febreezed in the next thirty minutes, I’m probably cutting you off from the real world until you move out. I’m _serious,_ Harry.”

She turns to the hallway and leaves them while she grabs the cleaning products.

Harry pounds the back of his head into the couch as Louis pets over his hipbone placatingly.

“At least this isn’t as bad as when she caught you with that vibrator up your arse, right?”

Harry’s just about to answer when she pops her head back in with a pair of rubber gloves.

“You won’t stop until this house is _spotless,_ Harry. I don’t want one—“

She pauses, and it sounds so dangerous Harry literally braces Louis’ forearm to calm his nerves.

“Is that—a _used_ condom—in my _gardenia?”_

Harry closes his eyes in defeat. “No. This is _worse.”_

***

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)
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> [rebloggable tumblr post](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com/post/114971396876/at-louis-underscore-fic-curtains-cataclysms) (NSFW)


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